Part 6
“I’ll step off Wentworth,” she said.
“I did not ask you to.”
“She’ll withhold funding.”
“She may.”
“Forty people are working on that building.”
“Thirty-two.”
“That doesn’t improve it.”
Samuel removed his glasses and cleaned them with his tie. “I need to know whether this is going to become a pattern.”
“It won’t.”
“People say that after the first public disaster because they think the word pattern only applies after the second.”
Clara held his gaze. “I hit her once. I have never hit anyone before. I’m starting counseling this week whether a court orders it or not.”
“Why?”
The question angered her until she understood he was not asking why counseling.
“Why did you hit her?”
“She was holding my daughter by a bracelet and telling her she could be taken away from me.”
Samuel put his glasses back on. “That does not make the slap smart.”
“No.”
“It makes it less mysterious.”
He picked up the pencil again. “You stay on your other projects. You do not attend Harrow-funded meetings for now. I will speak to the board.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me. If you create another crisis, I will fire you personally and complain about the paperwork.”
Outside his office, Clara’s colleague Nina rolled her chair over.
“My mother sent me the video,” she whispered. “She lives in Arizona. She has never been east of Dallas.”
“I’m famous.”
“She said your posture was excellent.”
Clara laughed once, unexpectedly. The sound felt wrong and necessary.
Mara called at four.
“Daniel filed for temporary modification of custody,” she said. “Not emergency removal, but expedited review. He’s alleging exposure to family violence, emotional instability, and interference with his relationship.”
“He filed?”
“His name is on it.”
“Eleanor wrote it.”
“Probably. The court will not care who chose the adjectives.”
Clara closed herself in the records room.
“What does he want?”
“Temporary primary custody, your visits on a structured schedule, and an order preventing you from discussing the gala with Sophie.”
“He wants to take her because his mother held her.”
“He will say his mother attempted to calm an upset child and you misinterpreted the situation.”
“Thomas saw it.”
“Thomas’s current written statement says he observed a verbal disagreement followed by an unprovoked physical strike.”
Clara sat on a box of old invoices.
“He told the police that?”
“He gave the estate security director a statement. It’s attached.”
The records room smelled of paper and dust. Someone had left a broken desk fan on the floor.
“He lied.”
“He omitted.”
“That’s a polite word for lying when you charge by the hour.”
“I don’t charge enough to make lying polite.”
Clara pressed her fingers against her eyes. “Sophie told me Eleanor threatened her with a judge.”
“We need to handle that carefully. I’m going to request a guardian ad litem and a neutral child therapist. Do not ask Sophie to repeat the story for relatives, friends, or your attorney unless necessary.”
“What about the mark on her wrist?”
“Send the photographs. Keep the bracelet.”
“It’s in a sandwich bag.”
Mara was silent.
“What?”
“Nothing. That is both sensible and extremely you.”
The custody hearing was scheduled for three weeks later.
Three weeks sounded short until Clara began living through the hours.
Daniel collected Sophie from school on Tuesday under the existing schedule. Clara stood near the office while he signed her out. He did not look at her.
“Dad says I’m staying with him until Friday,” Sophie said.
“That’s the normal plan.”
“Will Nana be there?”
Daniel answered before Clara could. “No.”
Sophie looked at him. “Promise?”
He glanced toward the school secretary.
“Yes,” he said.
The delay before the answer was less than a second. Clara saw it anyway.
She crouched and adjusted Sophie’s backpack strap. “You can call me anytime.”
“Dad says you call too much.”
Daniel exhaled. “I did not say that.”
“You said Mom needs to give us space.”
“That is not the same thing.”
Sophie watched both of them, her face closing in the manner Clara had begun to recognize.
Clara stood. “Have a good time.”
Daniel opened his car door for Sophie. Before getting in, she said, “I don’t want anybody to learn their place.”
Daniel’s eyes met Clara’s over the roof of the car.
That night, Clara ate scrambled eggs over the sink because using a plate seemed optimistic. She began writing an account of the gala for Mara. Every sentence felt either self-serving or insufficient.
I observed my daughter crying.
Eleanor was holding the pearl bracelet.
I requested that she release Sophie.
Eleanor said Sophie needed to learn her place.
I struck Eleanor once with an open hand.
The facts occupied five lines. Their consequences had already reached the police, family court, her job, Sophie’s school, and strangers in Arizona.
At eight, Beatrice called.
Clara almost ignored it.
“I’m outside,” Beatrice said.
“Outside where?”
“Your house.”
Clara looked through the window. Beatrice stood beneath the porch light wearing jeans, a navy sweater, and the same expression she had worn at fourteen when she broke a Waterford bowl and asked Clara to help glue it before Eleanor came home.
Clara opened the door.
Beatrice held a paper bakery box. “I brought lemon bars.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t know what else to bring.”
“Evidence would be nice.”
Beatrice flinched. “I deserve that.”
Clara let her inside.
They sat at the kitchen table. Beatrice opened the box, cut one lemon bar in half with a butter knife, then did not eat it.
“Wade wants to postpone the wedding,” she said.
Clara had expected accusation, not this.
“Because of the gala?”
“Because of my family.”
“That problem existed before Saturday.”
“He says he didn’t understand how bad it was.”
“You’ve been engaged for nine months.”
“I didn’t understand how bad it was.”
Clara waited.
Beatrice rubbed powdered sugar from her thumb. “Mom told everyone you attacked her because she tried to stop Sophie from running into a waiter.”
“That did not happen.”
“I know.”
May you like
“How?”
“I spoke to Celeste.”
