Chapter 15: Henrietta

"Born at Swedish Hospital, Seattle," Lance's mother read. "Mother's maiden name, Lane. Father, Conway."

She folded the page in half.

"Walter Conway's granddaughter. Driving a ferry. Sitting at my table eating my salmon."

"Give me that."

"I have three copies, honey."

My hands were cold all the way to the elbows.

"What do you want?"

"Want?" She looked genuinely surprised. "I don't want anything from you. I want my husband to see what his precious Remington married."

"I'm telling him this morning. Give me one hour."

"You've had two weeks." She smiled. "I'll save you the trouble."

She turned and walked up the dock toward the house.

I went after her.

She didn't hurry. She didn't have to.

Through the glass wall I could see the whole family at the long breakfast table.

Old Mr. Beckford with his newspaper. Liza with a grapefruit.

Rem was in his gray T-shirt, pouring coffee, his hair still wet from the shower.

He looked up when we came in and smiled at me.

That was the worst part.

Lance's mother laid the folded page beside his plate.

"Your wife's birth certificate," she said. "Read the last name."

"Don't," I said.

Rem looked at me.

Then he unfolded it.

The room was so quiet I could hear the lake.

He read it once. His face didn't move.

He read it again.

Old Mr. Beckford reached over and took it out of his hand.

He looked at it for a long time.

Then he looked at me, and something old came into his face.

"The little girl at the funeral," he said quietly. "You had your father's chin. I should have seen it."

"Is it true?" Rem said.

He was looking at me. Only me.

"Yes."

"You're Walter Conway's granddaughter."

"Yes."

"The girl he offered me."

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