Chapter 16: The Cost

Clive's POV

I did not follow Justine.

I stood in my kitchen for an hour with a cold cup of coffee that Brendan had left on the landing, and then I put my jacket on.

She had said not to be understanding.

She had not said not to be useful.

Maureen Foley's house was a brick row house in Park Slope with a wreath still on the door from a holiday three months gone.

I rang the bell, and she opened it in her lavender coat.

She had been about to go out.

"Clive," she said. "I can't do this today."

"It won't take long."

"Brendan is in the kitchen. He hasn't slept."

"Good," I said. "I need him there."

She stepped back without meaning to.

Brendan sat at the table with his head in his hands, and Gianna's coat was on the hook by the back door.

She was upstairs, Maureen said, lying down.

I stayed standing.

"Maureen, you told me Gianna lost a baby in Florence," I said. "I asked you if you had ever seen a paper."

"You asked if I'd seen the grave."

"I asked about a paper. You said you never asked for one."

"Because I wouldn't do that to a grieving girl."

"Nobody was ever buried at Linden Park," I said. "I've seen the cemetery file. It says none recorded."

"Clive," Brendan said from the table. "Don't."

"I've seen the Florence doctor's letter. Her own father kept it in a briefcase for five years."

Maureen's hand went to the back of a chair.

"Carla would never," she said. "Carla was in my wedding."

"She told Justine herself, in her hotel suite. Brendan read the letter this morning."

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