Chapter 10: The Letters

"You've been sitting there the whole time," I said.

Marla set her teacup down in its saucer without a sound.

"I heard you tell Brooke what we raised you on," she said.

"A pantry and an iron. You sound like a girl in a television movie."

"I have it on a recording."

"I'm sure you do."

She wasn't scared.

That was the worst part.

She looked at me.

"Brooke," she said. "Get your coat."

Brooke got her coat.

Marla stood and smoothed her cardigan.

"You think you're clever, Abigail. But you don't know your mother. You think she was a poor little waitress who was wronged."

"Tell me one true thing about her."

"She took the money."

Marla's voice was very soft.

"Constance Garrow put a check in her hand, and your mother took it and walked out on that man. Ask him."

She smiled.

"Ask your father what a girl is worth."

She went out with Brooke trotting behind her.

The door swung shut on a cloud of cold air.

Jonas was beside me.

"Abby."

"I'm fine."

"You're gripping the table."

I looked down.

My knuckles were white against the wood.

I let go.

"Take me home," I said.

Dominic was waiting in the front hall.

He had been waiting there, Jonas told me later, for ninety minutes, with his coat on, not sitting down once.

I put the gray file box in his hands.

Then the shoebox, tied with kitchen string.

"I haven't opened this one," I said. "I couldn't do it alone."

"Abby."

"Do you want to do it with me?"

He looked at me for a long time.

Then he carried it to the dining room.

We sat across from each other at the long table, and he cut the string with a butter knife.

The box was full of envelopes.

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