Chapter 11: The Service Corridor

Claire's POV

He put the cedar box on the kitchen table at six in the morning, next to my coffee.

Then he told me where he'd been.

I listened to all of it.

I did not say a word until he got to Diane in her silk robe, offering him his father's watch.

"You went in," I said.

"Yes."

"I told you no. Twice. In the rain."

"You did."

"If she'd called the police, I'd have lost every chance I have."

"She didn't. She wanted me to take it."

"That's not an excuse. That's a worse sign."

"I know."

I put both hands flat on my mother's cedar box.

The wood was cool and smooth.

One brass corner was bent from the day she dropped it when I was nine.

"Do you want me to say I'm sorry?" Gabe said.

"Are you?"

"No."

I stared at him.

"I'd do it again," he said. "That's the truth. I'm sorry I went behind your back. I'm not sorry I got it."

"You're impossible."

"I'm available for being yelled at, if you want to start."

"I don't want to start," I said. "I want to open the box."

I lifted the lid.

Dozens of envelopes lay in faded tissue, bound with ribbon.

On top was one with a stamp that had never been postmarked.

To my daughter.

I turned it over, and the flap was sealed with a dried thread of glue.

My name was not on it.

"The date's before I was born," I said.

"I saw."

"She had another child."

"Maybe."

"She had a daughter, Gabe. Before me. She never told me."

My hands had started to shake again.

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