The Things We Keep(87)

“That slimy rotten…”

As Denise’s lips start to upcurve, I feel a rush of relief. And I have a feeling that Rosalind House is now in exactly the right hands.

*

When I enter Clara’s bedroom, her eyes are closed. Laurie lies by her side, awake, staring as her face flickers and dances with new sleep. I watch for a moment from the doorway, then back away quietly.

“Eve.” Laurie spots me right before I disappear out the door. He smiles and starts to sit up.

“Stay where you are,” I say. “Please. Seeing you two lying there, it gives me faith in love.”

Laurie ignores me and pushes himself upright. “A pretty young girl like you, you shouldn’t need help finding faith in love.”

I laugh. “You might be surprised.”

Laurie watches me, waiting in that way I’ve become accustomed to these last few months. At Rosalind House, I’ve discovered a whole new way of being listened to.

“I don’t want to talk about me,” I say. “How is Clara?”

Laurie casts a glance down at her. “It won’t be long now.”

“Is she suffering?”

“I don’t think so. She’s asleep mostly. She’s been saying some strange things.” He continues staring at her, adoring, but his expression is mingled with puzzlement. “She told me about something she did, a long time ago. A secret she’s been keeping.” Finally he strips his eyes off her and looks at me. “A confession. She said she stole me from her sister—a hundred years ago, when we were kids.” His laugh is empty. “She said her death wish was to put things right, to”—he laughs again—“to reunite us.”

A knot ties itself, deep in my belly. She did tell him.

“It makes me sick to think that, when she knew she was going to die, this is what she was thinking about.”

“Is it true?” I ask. “Did she steal you … from her sister?”

Laurie shrugs like it’s the most insignificant detail in the world. “Probably. But if she did, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. What upsets me most is that she thought this would undo everything we had. Sixty years of marriage. Every memory … every moment.”

I think of Richard. Of all the time we spent together that I’d rendered meaningless because of how things went in the end.

“And”—I swallow—“it doesn’t?”

“Of course it doesn’t.”

“But if something starts on a lie—”

He makes a noise like bah. “You might start something on a lie, or finish it on a lie, but that doesn’t mean that everything in the middle isn’t the truth.” He smiles a sad smile. “Nothing can undo time.”

Finally, for both me and Laurie, the tears begin to roll.

“So what did you say?” I ask finally. “Did you … grant her wish?”

He laughs. “I told her I’m the husband, so my wishes come first.” He rolls back into a lying position and tosses an arm over Clara’s waist. “And my wish is to have the love of my life die in my arms.”

*

Clara didn’t wake while I was there. I stayed for half an hour, then kissed her papery forehead and told her to say hello to Richard for me. Then I let myself into the hallway.

Pots bang in the kitchen; someone is obviously packing up the lunch dishes. Doing my job, probably a lot better than I did it. I think of Anna and Luke. Rosie told me on the phone that Anna had received seven stitches in her hand but she would be fine. I glance toward her room and shift my stance, wondering if I should pop my head around the door. She won’t remember me, of course. But we’d had a rapport once. I can’t help but wonder if we’ll still have it.

Before I can decide one way or another, her door opens and her father walks out. “Hello,” he says. “It’s Eve, isn’t it?”

I hesitate on the spot. “Er, yes. That’s right.”

“I’m Anna’s dad. Peter.”

“I remember,” I say. “How’s Anna?”

“Not great, today.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Actually, I was hoping I would run into you,” he says. “Denise told me you aren’t working here anymore.”

“No, I’m just … visiting.”

“Have you got a minute?” he asks. “Could we talk?”

“Sure,” I say, surprised. “In the parlor?”

“After you.”

In the chairs by the window, he pulls Anna’s notebook from his bag. “I was going to give this back to Anna today. It just felt like the right thing to do. Then I realized, if she reads it, it will just remind her of a promise she can’t keep. So I kept it.” He looks at it sadly. “But I’m starting to wonder if Anna should be kept from this man.”

“Why is she kept apart from him?” I ask. There’s a note of begging in my voice. “Can you tell me?”

His gaze drops away. “I don’t see why it’s such a secret. Anna was pregnant.”

My mouth opens. I start to say something, but the words get stuck, and I can’t seem to project them.

“No one realized, not even Anna, until she was nearly halfway through the pregnancy. When Jack found out, he sat down with her and told her—then he marched into Eric’s office to unleash.” Peter pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers. “While Jack was with Eric, Anna took herself to the top floor of this building and jumped off the roof.”