The Choices We Made novel · Chapter 8 of 24

Chapter 8: Ninety-Nine Percent

Weston kept his hand where it was.

He did not step back from Eliza.

He did not take his eyes off the woman in the navy coat at the gate.

"Get in the car, Weston," his mother said.

"You told me he was buried here."

"He was."

"There's no record of it."

Constance's umbrella did not tremble.

"The grave was moved," she said. "The family plot has no room for infants."

"Moved where?"

"He was cremated, and I scattered him at the lake, because you were in no state to choose."

"I never signed for that."

"You signed what I gave you. You were in no state."

It was the answer of someone who had prepared it.

Weston looked at his mother's hand on the umbrella handle. It was flat and white.

"I'll ask you again tomorrow," he said, "and the day after."

"Ask as often as you like."

"Eliza is turning you against your own mother."

"No," Weston said. "You are."

Behind him, Eliza said nothing.

Constance looked at her for a long moment, then got back into the car, and the driver took her away.

He drove Eliza back to her mother's house in silence.

At her gate she stopped with her hand on the door.

"Thank you for not telling me it was grief," she said.

"I'll know more in three days."

"So will I. I mailed my envelope this morning."

She got out.

He watched her walk up the dark path to a house with no lights on.

He did not start the car again for a full minute.

Gretchen came to the office on the second day.

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