Chapter 4
“Claire,” he warned.
“No,” I said. “If I’m going to sit at this table, I won’t pretend the past isn’t here.”
Ethan stared at his plate.
I softened my voice.
“I’m not asking to punish anyone. I want the truth.”
Rebecca’s lips parted, but no words came.
Margaret spoke first.
“This isn’t the time.”
“It has been ten years,” I replied. “There has been plenty of time.”
Clara placed her hand over Matteo’s.
Alexander looked at me. “You came here for Ethan.”
“Yes. But I won’t let him grow up believing I abandoned him.”
“I never told him that.”
“No. You told him I was dangerous.”
Ethan looked up sharply.
“Dad?”
Alexander’s face changed.
“I told you there had been accusations.”
“You told me Mom left because she couldn’t accept responsibility.”
Alexander said nothing.
The color drained from Rebecca’s face.
Ethan pushed his chair back slightly.
“Is that true?”
“No,” I said. “It isn’t.”
He looked at his father.
Alexander did not answer quickly enough.
That hesitation hurt more than any denial could have.
“I was forced out,” I continued. “I asked to see you. I wrote letters.”
“I never saw any letters,” Ethan said.
“I sent them.”
“To where?”
“Here.”
Margaret’s fingers closed around her cane.
“I don’t know what happened to them,” she said.
“But you knew I sent them.”
Her gaze dropped.
“Yes.”
The word was barely audible.
Ethan turned toward her.
“Grandma?”
Margaret inhaled slowly.
“When your mother was removed from the house, your father told us no contact was to be permitted until the matter was resolved.”
“It was never resolved,” I said.
Margaret looked at me. “Alexander believed the evidence.”
“And you?”
“I believed my son.”
The answer came without defense. That made it harder to reject.
Ethan’s face had gone pale.
Alexander finally spoke. “We can’t undo the decisions made ten years ago tonight.”
“No,” I said. “But you can stop repeating them.”
Rebecca pushed her chair back.
“I need air.”
She rose and left through the French doors onto the terrace.
Ethan watched her go.
“Why does she look like that?”
“Like what?”
“Like she’s waiting for something to happen.”
I looked toward the dark glass.
“Maybe she is.”
Alexander stood. “I’ll speak with her.”
“No.”
He stopped.
“If you want the truth,” I said, “let her choose whether to tell it.”
His eyes narrowed. “You think she’ll confess because you ask nicely?”