Chapter 3 - what Lily remembered
Lily remembered the blue box because her mother had made it into a game.
At least, that was how the memory lived in her five-year-old mind.
A sunny afternoon.
Grace kneeling on the carpet.
A blue box no larger than a book.
"Treasure," Grace had whispered.
Lily, only two and a half at the time, had clapped.
"Pirate?"
"Better."
"Princess?"
"Much better."
Grace had kissed her nose.
Then she had placed the box somewhere Lily could not reach.
The rest of the memory was fragmented.
A clock.
A white chair.
A song.
Her mother's hands.
And a small brass key tied to a ribbon.
Lily had forgotten it for years.
Then Vanessa began asking questions.
At first they sounded harmless.
Did Mommy have secret drawers?
Did Mommy ever give you jewelry?
Did Mommy show you a special place?
Lily answered what she could.
Vanessa always smiled.
Then the questions changed.
Did Mommy hide anything?
Was there a box?
What color?
Where?
When Lily said she did not know, Vanessa stopped smiling.
Three weeks before the engagement party, Lily woke after midnight and saw Vanessa standing beside her bed.
The room was dark except for the hallway light.
"Sweetheart."
Lily rubbed her eyes.
"What?"
"I need you to remember something."
"I'm sleepy."
"I know."
Vanessa sat beside her.
"Your mommy had a blue box."
Lily went still.
That was when the memory returned.
Not all of it.
Only the color.
Vanessa saw recognition immediately.
"There was a box."
Lily pulled the blanket up.
"No."
"Lily."
"No."
Vanessa's fingers tightened around the blanket.
"Where did she put it?"
"I don't know."
"Think."
"I don't know."
Vanessa leaned close.
"Your father is going to marry me."
Lily stared at her.
"That means I am going to take care of this family."
Lily said nothing.
"Sometimes taking care of people means stopping bad things from happening."
"What bad things?"
"Your mother didn't understand that."
Lily's eyes filled.
Vanessa touched her cheek.
"She kept secrets from your father."
"Mommy didn't."
"She did."
"No."
"And those secrets hurt her."
Lily began to cry.
Vanessa sighed.
"If you tell me where the box is, nobody else gets hurt."
The words remained inside Lily the next morning.
At breakfast she almost told Vincent.
Then his phone rang.
Vanessa looked at her over the coffee cup.
Lily stayed silent.
For several days, Vanessa tried gentler methods.
New toys.
Extra dessert.
A trip to the aquarium.
Questions disguised as games.
Lily refused to answer.
Then the punishments started.
They were small enough to hide.
Standing in the hallway for ten minutes.
Losing dessert.
Losing cartoons.
Being told she was selfish.
Being forced to repeat that Vanessa would soon be her mother.
Martha noticed Lily growing quieter.
Vincent noticed too, but Vanessa always had an explanation.
She is adjusting.
She misses Grace.
Children test boundaries.
We need consistency.
The explanations were reasonable.
That was what made them dangerous.
One afternoon, Vincent came home early and found Lily sitting on the staircase alone.
"Hey."
She looked up.
He sat beside her.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing."
"You inherited your mother's terrible lying face."
Lily almost smiled.
Vincent nudged her shoulder.
"Talk to me."
She stared at his hand.
"Daddy?"
"Yes?"
"If somebody does something bad because they love you, is it still bad?"
Vincent frowned.
"Who told you that?"
Lily's eyes moved toward the second floor.
Vanessa appeared above them.
"There you are."
Lily immediately stood.
Vanessa smiled at Vincent.
"We were looking everywhere for her."
Vincent looked at Lily.
"What were we talking about?"
Lily swallowed.
"Nothing."
Vanessa came down the stairs and kissed Vincent.
"She's been emotional today."
Vincent stood.
"Maybe we should slow down the engagement plans."
Vanessa's expression changed for only a fraction of a second.
Then she laughed.
"Because a five-year-old is moody?"
"Because she's my daughter."
"And soon she'll be mine too."
Lily stepped behind Vincent.
Again, it was small.
Again, he missed what it meant.
That night Martha knocked on Vincent's study door.
He was reviewing contracts.
"Come in."
She entered.
Martha had known Vincent since he was seventeen.
She had watched him become a husband.
Then a father.
Then a widower.
She did not frighten easily.
But she did not know how to tell him what she suspected without evidence strong enough to survive Vanessa's denial.
"Sir, may I ask you something?"
Vincent looked up.
"Always."
"Has Miss Cole ever had permission to enter Mrs. Moretti's room?"
"No."
"Has she asked?"
"Recently."
"What did you say?"
"No."
Martha nodded.
Vincent studied her.
"Why?"
"I saw someone near the east corridor."
"Vanessa?"
Martha hesitated.
That hesitation changed his expression.
"Martha."
"I believe so."
"When?"
"Two nights ago."
"Believe?"
"The corridor was dark."
That was not entirely true.
Vincent leaned back.
"What exactly are you suggesting?"
"I don't know yet."
He looked annoyed.
"Martha, if you have something to say, say it."
She almost did.
Then she remembered the photograph in Vanessa's hands.
If she accused Vanessa too early, Vanessa might destroy whatever she had found.
"I think you should check the lock."
Vincent stared at her.
Then stood.
They walked together to the east wing.
Vincent opened his safe first.
His key was still there.
They checked Martha's.
Still there.
Grace's door showed no damage.
Vincent opened it.
Dust motes floated in the dim light.
Everything looked untouched.
Her books.
Her dressing table.
Her perfume bottles.
A cream sweater folded over a chair.
Vincent stood in the doorway longer than necessary.
Martha saw grief cross his face.
Then he stepped inside.
They searched.
Nothing obvious was missing.
Vincent finally exhaled.
"Martha."
"Yes?"
"Vanessa has no key."
Martha said nothing.
"You may have seen someone else."
"Perhaps."
He looked at her.
"Do you dislike her?"
Martha was offended.
"My opinion has nothing to do with this."
"Then what does?"
"Lily."
Vincent's face hardened.
"What about Lily?"
Before Martha could answer, footsteps sounded behind them.
Vanessa stood in the doorway.
She looked from Vincent to Grace's room.
Then smiled.
"I didn't know we were opening this tonight."
Martha watched her carefully.
Vanessa looked completely calm.
Too calm.
Vincent stepped out.
"We aren't."
He locked the door.
Vanessa took his arm.
"Come to bed."
As they walked away, Vanessa glanced back at Martha.
The smile remained.
Her eyes did not.
Later, Martha returned alone.
She entered Grace's bedroom with her key.
This time she searched more carefully.
On the desk, she found an empty rectangle in the dust.
Something had definitely been removed.
Inside a drawer, beneath several envelopes, she found the torn corner of a photograph.
Blue paint.
A wooden porch.
The same lake cottage Vanessa had seen in the photograph.
Martha turned the piece over.
May you like
One word remained from Grace's writing.
FIND.
