Evelyn turned toward the window. Outside, the rain had stopped, leaving the glass dark and reflective.
“Where is Clara now?” I asked.
“She went home.”
“Tell her to come to Boston tomorrow.”
“Adrian—”
“Not to defend you. Not to explain. She needs to give Evelyn every letter and document herself.”
Victoria was quiet for a moment.
“She will come.”
“And you?”
“I will send the originals.”
“That isn’t enough.”
“I know.”
The admission left the room strangely empty.
I ended the call.
For several seconds, none of us moved.
Then Julian crossed to the stove and turned off the burner beneath the simmering pot.
“The food will be cold,” he said. “But I can make something else.”
The simple kindness of the sentence nearly undid me.
“I should leave,” I said.
Evelyn looked at me. “Yes.”
I nodded.
At the doorway, I stopped. Upstairs, I could hear Julian speaking softly to the children. A toy rolled across the floor. Lily giggled, and Samuel shushed her with great seriousness.
