But eventually Dad began asking questions about Owen’s death.
Had he been sick?
Had he taken medication?
Mara answered:
“Only his vitamins.”
Dad glanced at Mom.
Fast.
Almost invisible.
But I saw it.
Mara heard the silence.
Then she stood.
“I want to see my husband.”
Mom immediately said:
“I’ll take you.”
“No.”
Everyone stopped.
Mara had endured Eleanor’s patronizing sympathy for years.
Not now.
“Claire will take me.”
Mom’s face hardened.
“Claire is grieving.”
“So am I.”
“Mara—”
“I said no.”
I stood beside her.
“I’ll take her.”
THE CAPSULE AROUND OWEN’S NECK
Owen lay beneath a white sheet.
Mara asked:
“Where is his hand?”
I guided her fingers.
She touched his wedding ring.
His wrist.
His knuckles.
Then pressed her forehead against his hand.
“You promised me five more years.”
I turned away.
Eventually she reached beneath Owen’s collar.
A thin chain hung around his neck.
Attached was a tiny metal cylinder.
Inside was a rolled strip of paper.
Six numbers.
“A combination.”
“To what?”
“The safe under the floor in Owen’s study.”
I stared.
“Owen didn’t have a safe.”
“Yes, he did.”
“How do you know?”
“I helped install it.”