Chapter 11 - The Photograph Lily Found in Her Mother’s Office
Police wanted us to wait.
I did not.
Rebecca understood before I spoke.
“You’re going.”
“Yes.”
“So am I.”
“No.”
She stared.
I corrected myself.
“You shouldn’t.”
“Better.”
“Lily needs you.”
“And Jaime needs you.”
“Exactly.”
“That argument works both directions.”
Frank, now wearing a bandage, muttered from the paramedic chair:
“She’s got you there.”
I looked at him.
“You should be at the hospital.”
“I’m seventy-one. Hospitals steal Sundays.”
“It’s Monday.”
“Exactly. Confusion has begun.”
Rebecca called her driver.
Three hours later, we were heading south.
The children remained with Rebecca’s nanny and two security officers.
Jaime objected.
Lily negotiated.
Rebecca lost.
They were allowed to stay together until we returned.
The highway gave us too much time to think.
“My mother knew Ruth.”
Rebecca looked out the window.
“Apparently.”
“She never said anything.”
“My mother hid legal documents under a diner table.”
“Parents are strange.”
“Profound.”
I looked at her.
“You okay?”
“No.”
“Lily answer.”
She smiled.
“Yes.”
Then her phone rang.
Lily.
Rebecca answered on speaker.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
“Mom, I found Grandma.”
Rebecca froze.
“What?”
I sat forward.
Lily continued.
“In your office.”
Rebecca’s face drained.
“Lily, what are you doing in my office?”
“Looking for purple markers.”
“Where is Mrs. Chen?”
“Kitchen.”
“Where exactly are you?”
“Your desk.”
Rebecca closed her eyes.
“What did you find?”
“A picture of Grandma.”
Rebecca looked at me.
“Send it.”
A moment later the image arrived.
Old photograph.
Ruth Sloan.
Charles Sloan.
Frank’s father Henry.
And another woman.
My mother.
Young.
Maybe twenty-five.
Standing outside Maple Street Grill.
On the back:
Ruth, Eleanor, Henry — after the hearing. 1998.
I stared.
“What hearing?”
Rebecca zoomed in.
There was a courthouse behind them.
Portland County.
Lily’s voice continued.
“There’s another picture.”
“Send it.”
Second photograph.
Ruth and my mother at Table Six.
Between them sat a baby carrier.
I could not breathe.
The baby.
Me.
Date:
That was fourteen years earlier.
“My mother knew yours before 1998.”
Rebecca whispered:
“Yes.”
Lily said:
“There’s writing.”
“What?”
“Grandma wrote, ‘For Eleanor, who taught me that leaving once doesn’t mean you failed.’”
Rebecca looked away.
Her mother had apparently lived an entire emotional life Rebecca never knew.
So had mine.
“Lily,” Rebecca said gently, “put everything back.”
“Okay.”
“And no more searching.”
A pause.
“Define searching.”
“Lily.”
“Okay.”
Call ended.
I stared at the photograph.
“My mother brought me to Maple Street as a baby.”
Rebecca touched the screen.
“Maybe that’s why Frank put you on the successor list.”
“No. He said he didn’t know.”
“Maybe Frank didn’t.”
The pieces were connecting through people who had never spoken.
Table Six had held secrets because the families around it had spent decades doing the same.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Kevin there?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“He left.”
“Are you hurt?”
“No.”
“Why is he there?”
“Ethan.”
“What hearing happened in 1998?”
Long silence.
Rebecca heard.
Then Mom whispered:
“You found the photograph.”
“Yes.”
“I hoped you never would.”
“Why?”
“Because some promises get uglier when they survive too long.”
“What does that mean?”
“Turn around.”
“No.”
“Ethan.”
“We’re twenty minutes away.”
“We?”
“Rebecca Sloan.”
Silence.
Then a strange sound.
My mother laughing softly.
“Oh, Ruth.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Mom.”
“She said your families would find each other again.”
I looked at Rebecca.
Her eyes widened.
“What families?”
My mother exhaled.
“Come.”
“You just told me not to.”
“Kevin’s gone.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“What did he want?”
“The original testimony.”
Rebecca leaned closer.
“What testimony?”
Mom heard her.
“Rebecca?”
“Yes.”
Another long silence.
“You sound like Ruth.”
Rebecca swallowed.
“What testimony, Eleanor?”
My mother answered:
“The one proving Victor Hale never failed to record the covenant.”
Everything stopped.
Rebecca looked at me.
“Then why is it missing?”
Mom said:
“Because Charles ordered him to remove it.”
Rebecca went white.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You need to see the hearing transcript.”
“What hearing?”
“The one where your mother threatened to leave him permanently.”
Mom’s voice lowered.
“And the one where Charles Sloan admitted what he planned to do to Maple Street.”
We reached her house.
Front door open.
I ran inside.
“Mom?”
Kitchen.
Empty.
Chair overturned.
Her phone on the floor.
Rebecca entered behind me.
On the table sat a cassette recorder.
Red light blinking.
Fresh recording.
I pressed play.
Kevin’s voice filled the room.
If Ethan came, tell him his mother chose to come with me.
Then my mother spoke.
Calm.
Close to the microphone.
Ethan, whatever Kevin tells you next, do not believe Charles Sloan was the worst man involved.
A door slammed on the recording.
Kevin said:
Tell him the name.
My mother refused.
Then another male voice entered.
Older.
Familiar to Rebecca.
She whispered:
“No.”
The recording ended.
She looked at me.
“I know that voice.”
“Who?”
Her face went pale.
“My father’s former attorney.”
May you like
She said his name.
“Martin Vale’s father.”
