The Keeper of Happy Endings(102)

She dropped the photos into her tote, then picked up the ledger and pushed to her feet. He hadn’t even bothered to look at it. If he had, he might . . .

Yes . . . he might.

Heads turned as Rory slung her tote up onto her shoulder, narrowly missing her wineglass, and scurried out of the bar. She paused when she reached the hotel lobby, glancing frantically in both directions. She saw him finally, disappearing around the corner toward the elevators. She quickened her pace, nearly running now, desperate to reach him before he stepped into the elevator and was whisked away.

“Anson!” Her voice ricocheted appallingly in the empty corridor. “Wait! Please!”

He had just stepped into the elevator when he saw her. He stiffened briefly, then began to jab at the control panel in an attempt to close the door. Rory threw out an arm as the door began to close. It bucked, as if confused, then slid open.

Anson stared at her, too astonished to react as she shoved the ledger against his chest and stepped back out of the elevator. He would probably throw it in the trash as soon as he reached his room, but she had done all she could do. The rest was up to him.





FORTY


RORY

September 26, 1985—Boston

Rory flipped the wipers to high, wishing she had stayed home and climbed into the bathtub as planned. But when she’d returned home from the airport, there was a message from her mother on the machine. It was another invitation to brunch on Sunday—which she had no intention of accepting—but she’d also mentioned having theater tickets for this evening, which meant if she hurried, she could slip in and return the borrowed photo before her mother realized she’d taken it.

She was exhausted after a night of no sleep. She’d been naive enough to hope Anson would go back to his room, take one look at the ledger, and suddenly change his mind. He hadn’t. She tried his room while waiting for her breakfast to arrive, to make one final plea, only to be told by the front desk that Mr. Purcell had already checked out. She’d called Thia with the news before leaving for the airport and had agreed to give her a few more weeks to work on her brother. In the meantime, she’d say nothing to her mother and do what she could to repair the rift between herself and Soline.

The house was dark as she swung into the drive, with only the foyer light showing through the sidelight curtains. There was no sign of her mother’s car either. She located her old house key, grabbed her tote from the passenger seat, and headed up the walk.

She felt like a burglar as she let herself in, groping about with just the light from the foyer, but she would only be a minute. Then she could sink to her neck in a tub full of bubbles with a snack and Heather Graham’s latest release. Or maybe she’d just skip the bath and go straight to bed. Tomorrow was going to be a full day.

In the living room, she navigated the sofa, then a pair of wingbacks, finally making her way to the curio cabinet in the corner. She had just turned the tiny key and was pulling back the door when the living room lamp snapped on.

“Aurora, what on earth are you doing skulking around in the dark?”

Rory’s mouth worked soundlessly as she racked her brain for an explanation.

Camilla frowned at her. “I saw your car in the driveway when I pulled in. Is something . . .” Her voice trailed off when she noticed the picture frame in Rory’s hand. “What are you doing with that?”

“I was just . . .” Rory ran her eyes around the room, as if there might be an excuse lurking in one of the corners. There wasn’t. “I thought you were going to the theater.”

“I’ve been, but my allergies are kicking up, so I left at intermission.” Camilla set her handbag on the arm of the sofa and peeled a shimmery beaded shawl from her shoulders. She gave it a shake, sending a shower of rain droplets flying, then laid it aside. “Aurora, what’s going on? You haven’t returned any of my calls, and now I find you slinking around in the dark. Is there something I should know?”

“Like what?”

“I have no idea, but something’s going on. If you wanted to borrow a photograph, all you had to do was ask.”

For a moment, Rory considered lying, but she’d never pull that off, not when her mother knew how much she’d always hated this particular photo. “I wasn’t taking it,” she said finally. “I was putting it back.”

“Back from where?”

“I came by the other night while you were out and sort of . . . borrowed it.”

Camilla looked genuinely baffled. “Why?”

“I’ve just come back from San Francisco. And before that, I was in Newport.”

“I don’t understand. What do San Francisco and Newport have to do with a photo of you as a little girl?”

Rory closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. She was going to have to tell her—all of it. “It’s not just to do with me. It’s about you too.”

“You’re not making sense, Aurora. What are you saying?”

Rory dropped her gaze. She wasn’t prepared to have this conversation now. For starters, she’d given the ledger and adoption paperwork to Anson. She had no proof for the claims she was about to make. But there was no walking it back now. Her mother was waiting for an answer.

“I’m saying we need to talk.”

She looked wary suddenly. “About what?”