Chapter 19
I looked toward the photograph Dana had shown me earlier.
My mother.
Alexander.
Me in her arms.
Summer 2002.
I had been two years old.
“If you loved her, why did she marry someone else?”
Alexander looked toward the table.
“Because loving someone and building a life with them are not always the same thing.”
That sounded like something learned painfully.
“My father controlled almost every part of the family company in those years. He expected me to marry someone he considered suitable. Your mother came from a modest family. She had opinions. She challenged him openly.”
I almost smiled.
“That sounds like her.”
“It does.”
“And you chose Vanguard.”
Alexander looked at me.
“I chose fear.”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
“Charles threatened to remove you?”
“That would have been easy.”
His hand closed around the top of his cane.
“He threatened your mother.”
Dana’s expression changed slightly.
“What kind of threat?” I asked.
“Her career. Her reputation. Her ability to practice law. He made it clear that if I continued seeing her, he would ensure every major firm in New York knew she had supposedly mishandled confidential client records.”
“Was that true?”
“No.”
“Did she know?”
“She understood exactly what he was doing.”
“So she left you.”
“She asked me what I intended to do.”
Alexander’s eyes had gone distant.
“I told her I needed time.”
The shame in his voice was unmistakable.
“And she said?”
“She said that was an answer.”
I looked away.
I could hear my mother saying it.
Simple.
Sharp.
Not cruel.
Final.
“What happened next?”
“She left Vanguard. Several months later, I heard she was seeing Daniel Bennett.”
“You met him?”
“Once.”
That surprised me.
“When?”
“At a charity dinner. Your mother introduced us.”
“Was it awkward?”
For the first time, a faint, sad smile appeared.
“Extremely.”
I pictured it.
My mother in an evening dress.
Daniel at her side.
Alexander trying to pretend history wasn’t standing between them.
“What was he like?”
Alexander’s smile faded into something warmer.
“Kind.”
My throat tightened.
“He made Eleanor laugh.”
I looked down.
“I barely remember his voice.”
“You were very young.”
“I remember his hands.”
Alexander waited.
“They were always scratched because he fixed things. Bikes. Cabinets. Old radios. He didn’t throw anything away if he thought he could repair it.”
A memory came unexpectedly.
My father kneeling on a kitchen floor with a screwdriver between his teeth.