Chapter 17
“And if I do?”
“She may read it.”
“That doesn’t mean she’ll come back.”
“No.”
The answer was honest enough to make my throat tighten.
Miriam gathered the papers.
“You have one more matter to address.”
“Tessa.”
“Yes.”
“What has she given you?”
“Nothing yet. She has agreed to deliver the documents tomorrow.”
“Why not today?”
“She is frightened.”
“Of me?”
“Of becoming part of a family conflict she never understood.”
I nodded slowly.
For the first time, I wondered whether Tessa had believed the future I kept describing. Not because I had offered a clear promise, but because I had allowed her to build one from fragments.
Miriam stood.
“Go home, Mr. Keaton. Read everything. Speak to your accountant. Call your mother’s attorney. Do not move money. Do not contact Corinne except through this office.”
“May I see Owen?”
“When Corinne believes a meeting would be healthy for him, she will arrange it.”
I rose.
At the door, I turned.
“Did she say anything else?”
Miriam considered me.
“She said she still loves you.”
The words entered the room softly.
Then Miriam added, “She also said love was no longer enough.”
I drove back to Belle Meade without turning on the radio.
The house looked unchanged, but every room felt borrowed.
Mrs. Pearl was in the kitchen, sorting the baby’s things into boxes.
“You went to see the attorney,” she said.
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you where Corinne is?”
“Yes.”
Mrs. Pearl nodded, as though she had been waiting for that answer.
“Is she all right?”
“She and Owen are safe.”
“That is not what I asked.”
I looked at her.
She placed a folded blanket into a box.
“She is sad,” I said. “And angry.”
“Good.”
The word surprised me.
Mrs. Pearl closed the box.
“Anger is sometimes the part of grief that still has strength.”
I leaned against the counter.
“Did you know about my mother?”
“Some of it.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Your mother asked me not to.”
“She knew you?”
“She came to this house once, years ago. Before you and Corinne married. She wanted to see the place.”
I stared at her.
“What did she say?”
“She stood in the nursery and looked at the windows. Then she told me your father had always loved beautiful rooms because they made people assume the family inside them was happy.”
I looked toward the empty space where the bassinet had stood.