Chapter 20 - THE WOMAN IN THE CONSERVATORY
A year after the night of the broken glass, I went back into the conservatory at one in the morning.
The floor had been repaired.
New windows had replaced the cracked panes.
My mother’s plants had grown across the southern wall.
Delia stood near the same doorway where Celeste had once dragged her.
But this time she wore a dark green dress.
No nurse’s uniform.
No bandage.
Ewan stood beside her using a cane.
They had renewed their vows that afternoon.
No reporters.
No politicians.
No men who owed us favors.
Just family.
Real family.
My mother had cried through the entire ceremony.
Vincent had cried too, though he denied it.
Sofia photographed him and threatened to frame the evidence.
Ewan looked across the conservatory at me.
“You.”
His natural voice had begun returning in small pieces.
Rough.
Weak.
But his.
“What?”
I asked.
He pointed toward the champagne.
“Drink.”
“You’re becoming demanding.”
“Brother.”
It took him three seconds to force out the word.
That single word hit harder than every speech I had heard in the previous year.
I handed him a glass.
Delia joined us.
“To not dying,” I said.
She raised an eyebrow.
“That’s your toast?”
“It seems appropriate.”
Ewan lifted his glass.
“To…living.”
That was better.
We drank.
Later I went upstairs.
My mother was awake.
She had insisted on staying up until we finished.
I sat beside her.
“Good night.”
She touched my wrist.
“Happy?”
The word came slowly.
I thought about it.
A year earlier I would have answered differently.
Power had been easier to measure.
Money.
Fear.
Obedience.
Rooms going quiet when I entered.
Now the company was smaller.
My name scared fewer people.
My lawyers complained constantly.
Federal auditors knew the inside of my office better than some employees.
And somehow the answer was simple.
“Yes.”
My mother smiled.
“Good.”
I kissed her forehead.
On the way out, I passed Delia in the hallway.
She was carrying the medication tray.
I looked at it.
“I thought you stopped working.”
“Your mother fired three replacement nurses.”
“She likes you.”
“She has an unusual way of showing it.”
From the bedroom my mother called weakly, “Heard…that.”
Delia laughed.
So did I.
Then she stopped.
“You know what I still don’t understand?”
“What?”
“Why Celeste waited so long before searching me.”
I had wondered the same thing.
“She knew you were connected to Ewan.”
“Yes.”
“She knew about the key.”
“Eventually.”
“But why two years?”
Delia nodded.
“She could have searched my room anytime.”
A small uneasiness moved through me.
“Maybe she didn’t know until recently.”
“Then who told her?”
Neither of us answered.
At that exact moment the front doorbell rang.
Once.
It was almost two in the morning.
Jonas appeared downstairs.
He opened the door.
No one stood outside.
Only a package rested on the front step.
No return address.
My name printed across the top.
Jonas brought it inside.
I opened it at the kitchen table.
Inside was an old photograph.
Pier 44.
Taken the night of the fire.
Three figures stood near the east entrance.
Leonard.
Celeste.
And someone else.
I turned the photograph over.
Five words had been written on the back.
May you like
YOU NEVER FOUND THE THIRD MAN.
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