Chương 3
“Where did you find the picture?”
Eli glanced at Celeste.
Julian shifted until he blocked her from view. “You can tell me.”
“In the trash.”
“Which trash?”
“The one behind her clothes. The big one.”
Celeste spoke from across the room. “He entered my dressing room without permission.”
Eli’s eyes dropped.
Julian did not turn. “Why were you in there?”
“My cuff link rolled under the door.”
“You don’t have cuff links.”
“The little button.” He touched his shirt cuff. “Nora gave me the silver ones.”
Nora nodded. “They fasten with a bar. He calls them cuff links.”
“What happened after it rolled inside?” Julian asked.
“The door was open. I saw the box.”
“You opened it?”
Eli’s throat moved. “I saw Mom’s blue scarf.”
Julian remembered the scarf. Mara had bought it at an airport after spilling coffee on the one she had worn to a meeting. She had complained for years that the replacement was overpriced and then kept it until the fabric became almost transparent.
“Was the photograph already torn?”
Eli nodded. “It was in the trash under paper.”
“What paper?”
“Flowers.”
Celeste looked toward the lilies again.
“Wrapping paper?” Julian asked.
Eli nodded.
“Did you take anything else?”
“No.”
“Did Celeste see you?”
“She came in when I was putting it together.”
“What did she say?”
Eli pushed one torn edge against the other. His fingers trembled. “She said it was old and dirty. She said nobody wanted to see it tonight.”
Celeste stepped closer. “I said the frame was damaged.”
Eli stared at the floor. “You said she wasn’t part of this family anymore.”
Nora shut her eyes.
Celeste’s face went still.
Julian rose slowly. “Did you say that?”
“I don’t remember the exact sentence.”
“He does.”
“He is eight.”
“Yes.”
The word stopped her.
Eli’s lower lip tightened. He did not cry. Julian wished he would. Tears would have given Julian something simple to respond to. Instead the boy held the picture with the concentration of someone trying to keep an entire person from coming apart.
Nora said, “I think Master Eli should eat something.”
He shook his head.
“You had half a roll at lunch.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You say that whenever you are hungry and upset.”
“Nora.”
“That is true, and tonight seems a poor night to begin lying to each other.”
Julian looked at her. She met his eyes for one second, then looked away.
There was more.
He felt it before he knew what shape it had.
“Take him to the breakfast room,” Julian said. “I’ll be there shortly.”
Eli caught Julian’s sleeve. “Can I keep it?”
“The photograph?”
He nodded.
“Yes.”
Celeste folded her arms. “It belongs to the household archive.”
“It belongs to him.”
“It is an original.”
“It is his mother.”
Celeste’s nostrils flared. “A photograph is not a person.”
Eli looked at her.
Julian wished the sentence back into her mouth, not because it was false but because of the satisfaction with which she had said it.
Nora led Eli away.
Julian waited until they disappeared around the corner. “You’re going to the doctor. After that, you will stay at the guesthouse tonight.”
Celeste stared at him. “You’re removing me from my own bedroom.”
“I’m creating distance between you and Eli.”
“I am pregnant with your child.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
The question cracked at the edge. She pressed her lips together, angry at the weakness.
Julian’s instinct was to reassure her. The reflex embarrassed him. Reassurance had become the small payment he made whenever he wanted a conflict to go away without examining it. He had assured Celeste that no one compared her with Mara while leaving Mara’s portrait in the main hall. He had assured Eli that Celeste loved him while failing to notice that the boy had stopped entering rooms where she sat alone.
“I know,” he repeated. “That is why you’re being examined. It does not change what happened.”
“You caught my arm in front of everyone.”
“You raised your hand to my son.”
“Our son.”
The possessive landed badly.
Celeste heard it too. “I have cooked for him. Sat with him through fevers. Gone to school conferences while you were in Chicago or London or hiding in this house with contractors. I have been the person who knows which cereal he will eat and which socks make his ankles itch. Do not stand there and tell me he is only yours.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Julian rubbed the bridge of his nose. He was tired enough to feel each chandelier humming.
“What made you tear the picture?”
She turned away.
“Celeste.”
“I did not plan it.”
“What happened?”
“I asked Lydia to move it for one evening. She refused.”
“So you tore it.”
“She said Mara would always be the lady of this house.”
Julian exhaled. Lydia was capable of cruelty delivered in the tone of a correction. “That was a vicious thing to say.”
Celeste’s shoulders lowered slightly.
“It still doesn’t explain what you did.”
The small softening vanished.
“She stood there polishing the silver frame,” Celeste said, “and told me donors remembered Mara’s work. She said the foundation looked more authentic when the old photographs were displayed. Authentic. As if I were hired for the evening.”
“You could have come to me.”
“I have come to you for four years.”
“Not about tearing a photograph.”
“About living inside a memorial.”
Julian looked around the conservatory. Mara had helped choose the green velvet furniture during the restoration. After her death, he had refused to replace it, though one chaise had a stain beneath the cushion from a glass of cranberry juice. Celeste knew that. She had suggested new furniture twice and then stopped asking.
“I should have listened better,” he said.
She blinked, almost suspicious.
“But Eli did not create that problem.”
“No.”
“You punished him for it.”
“I lost my temper.”
“You destroyed one of the few photographs he has with his mother.”
May you like
“There are hundreds.”
“Not to him.”
