Chapter 1 - THE DATE RICHARD COULDN’T EXPLAIN
Vanessa ripped the framed photograph from Noah’s hands and slammed it face-down onto the marble table.
“She’s dead. Stop pretending.”
The sound of glass against stone made Noah flinch.
He stared at the photograph of his mother beneath Vanessa’s hand.
“You can’t erase her.”
Vanessa stepped closer.
Her burgundy earrings caught the chandelier light.
“I’m not erasing anyone. I’m trying to stop this house from revolving around a dead woman.”
The foyer doors opened.
Richard Carter entered in a charcoal suit, tie loosened after another fourteen-hour day in Manhattan.
He took one look at Noah’s face.
Then at Vanessa.
“Back away from him.”
Vanessa’s expression hardened.
“Richard, you have no idea what he’s been doing.”
“I said back away.”
She stepped aside.
Noah immediately reached for the photograph.
Vanessa noticed something folded beneath his wrist.
She snatched it first.
An envelope.
Old cream paper.
A familiar looping handwriting across the front.
NOAH.
Richard stopped moving.
Vanessa unfolded the letter.
Her irritation turned into something colder.
“Well.”
She held it up.
“Maybe Noah can explain this.”
In the upper corner was a handwritten date.
March 18.
Richard’s wife, Emily Carter, had been buried the previous September.
Six months earlier.
Vanessa smiled at Noah.
“You’ve been forging letters from your mother?”
Noah’s face crumpled.
“I didn’t.”
“Then explain why a dead woman dated this six months after her funeral.”
Richard took the letter.
His eyes moved to the date.
He did not look confused.
He looked terrified.
Vanessa saw it.
So did Noah.
Noah pulled the letter back.
“Dad…”
Richard could not look at him.
Noah’s voice dropped.
“Why aren’t you surprised?”
Nobody answered.
Then Vanessa stared at Richard.
“You knew this existed.”
Richard finally lifted his eyes.
“No.”
The lie came too quickly.
Noah stepped backward.
Richard reached toward him.
Noah pulled away.
That hurt Richard more than the accusation.
Vanessa folded her arms.
“What exactly have you been hiding?”
Richard looked toward the staircase.
Toward the second floor.
Toward a locked room Noah had been forbidden to enter since his mother died.
Then he said quietly:
“This cannot happen in front of Noah.”
Noah’s expression changed.
That was the sentence adults always used right before deciding what he was allowed to know.
He clutched the letter against his chest.
“No.”
Richard stared.
May you like
Noah had never spoken to him that way.
“This time,” Noah said, “you tell me too.”
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