Chương 3
“No one posts anything,” he said. “Please. Until counsel advises us, no social media, no press statements, no speculation.”
At least seven people reached for their phones.
The private room behind the stage had been arranged for performers who never arrived. A mirror ringed with bulbs faced a table holding unopened water bottles, a bowl of green apples, and a tray of sandwiches curling at the edges.
Sophie sat in a folding chair.
Nora closed the door, then opened it again.
“Why did you do that?” Sophie asked.
“Because I don’t know who has keys.”
Sophie considered this and decided it was sensible.
Nora pulled another chair close, angled it slightly rather than sitting directly in front of her. “May I see your neck?”
“It’s fine.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
Sophie moved her hair aside.
Nora breathed in through her nose. Her hands remained in her lap.
“Did she do that when she pulled the chain?”
“Yes.”
“Has she hurt you before?”
Sophie looked toward the green apples.
One had a brown dent near its stem. She wondered whether the caterer had placed it with the good side facing the door.
“Sophie.”
“Not like that.”
Nora waited.
“She grips.”
“Your arms?”
“Sometimes.”
“How hard?”
“I don’t know. Hard enough.”
“Did she leave marks?”
“Once.”
“Where?”
Sophie did not answer.
Nora leaned back. “All right.”
“You’re supposed to keep asking.”
“I’m supposed to help you answer. Those aren’t always the same thing.”
Sophie put the locket on the table. The engraved silver face was crushed inward. Her mother’s tiny photograph had folded across one eye.
Nora looked at it but did not reach for it.
“Ethan made the button,” Sophie said.
“I guessed.”
“It was already hollow. He put the transmitter inside.”
“When?”
“Six weeks ago.”
“And the recording?”
“On his computer.”
“Where did he get it?”
Sophie’s thumb moved over the locket’s broken hinge. “From my mother.”
Nora waited again.
Sophie hated adults who waited skillfully. Silence usually made other people fill it, and she had no desire to be other people.
“My mother left files,” she said. “Not for me exactly. For someone who knew where to look.”
“Ethan?”
“He worked on all the foundation events. He helped her make videos. She trusted him.”
“Did she tell you that?”
“She didn’t have to tell me everything.”
Nora’s expression stayed neutral, which meant she was concerned.
“She’s dead,” Sophie said. “People keep asking what she told me as if I can go back and check.”
“I’m not asking you to check.”
“You were about to say I might be wrong.”
“I was about to say trust is not the same as certainty.”
“It is when everyone else lies.”
Nora glanced toward the open doorway. A ballroom employee passed carrying a bucket of ice. Somewhere beyond the corridor, Arthur Wynn’s voice rose, then dropped again.
“Did Ethan tell you the district attorney would be here?” Nora asked.
“Yes.”
“Did he tell you what would happen afterward?”
Sophie looked at her.
“No,” she said.
The emergency child-protection responder arrived forty-three minutes later. Her name was Marisol Vega. She wore gray slacks, a burgundy cardigan, and an expression that suggested she had been called from dinner but did not resent Sophie for it.
She introduced herself, showed identification, and asked Nora to remain.
Sophie appreciated that she did not begin by saying how brave Sophie had been. People had started using that word in the corridor. Brave meant they wanted her to make their discomfort feel worthwhile.
Marisol photographed the mark on Sophie’s neck with a small evidence camera. She asked about Evelyn’s house, the locks on the doors, whether Sophie had access to food, whether she attended school regularly, whether anyone entered her bedroom at night, whether Evelyn had ever threatened to send her away.
“She said Switzerland,” Sophie replied.
Marisol paused over her notes. “For school?”
“She called it a residential academy.”
“What did you call it?”
“A place where nobody knew me.”
“Did she say when you would go?”
“After the adoption.”
“Did you want to go?”
“No.”
“Did you tell her that?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“That children confuse preference with judgment.”
Nora’s mouth tightened.
Marisol continued. “Do you have another relative you can stay with tonight?”
“No.”
“A family friend?”
Sophie looked at Nora.
Nora said, “I’m licensed as a school counselor, not a foster caregiver.”
Marisol nodded. “I know.”
“My apartment has a second bedroom.”
“I know that too.”
“You already checked me?”
“While driving.”
Nora glanced at Sophie. “That’s mildly terrifying.”
“Occupational hazard.”
Sophie almost smiled again. The effort hurt her throat.
Marisol explained that an emergency placement did not mean permanence. A judge would review it. Background checks would be required. Nora could possibly become a temporary kinship-style caregiver even though she was not related, but not that night.
“Where tonight?” Sophie asked.
“A short-term foster home in Brookline.”
“I don’t know them.”
“They’re approved emergency caregivers.”
“Evelyn was approved.”
No one spoke for a moment.
Marisol set down her pen. “You’re right to care about that.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“No. It doesn’t. The answer is that every option tonight is imperfect. Evelyn is not an option. A hotel is not an option. A police station is not a home. Nora has not been screened for overnight placement, and I cannot ignore that because she seems trustworthy. The foster family has been screened, has a room available, and has cared for children in emergency situations before.”
“How many?”
“Fourteen.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“It wasn’t meant to be.”
Sophie stared at the locket.
“Can Nora come with me?”
“To the house, yes. She can help you settle in.”
“And Ethan?”
“Mr. Cole is being interviewed.”
“Arrested?”
“No.”
“Yet?”
Marisol’s eyes shifted briefly toward Nora.
“Adults need to stop doing that,” Sophie said.
“Doing what?”
May you like
“Looking at another adult before answering me.”
Marisol nodded once. “Fair. Ethan may face questions about how he obtained the recording, whether he altered it, and whether he accessed systems without permission. I do not know if he will be charged.”
