Chapter 18 - Why the Seat Mattered
Emily almost laughed.
“After all that, we’re back to the seat?”
Claire looked miserable.
“Yes.”
They sat on the Harbor House porch wrapped in blankets while rain moved across the water.
Claire stared at her hands.
“I didn’t move you because of Jonathan.”
Emily frowned.
“You said you did.”
“I lied.”
“Of course you did.”
Claire accepted that without protest.
“The seat mattered because Dad had assigned that chair years ago.”
Emily looked at her.
“What?”
“When he wrote the wedding instructions.”
“What wedding instructions?”
Claire gave a small, broken smile.
“You know Dad. He planned for things that might never happen.”
She reached into the metal box and handed Emily a folded sheet.
It was a seating diagram.
Not for Claire’s wedding.
For any major Bennett family event at Harbor House.
Thomas had drawn a long family table and labeled six seats.
At the center: MATRIARCH / PATRIARCH.
To the right: ELDER DAUGHTER.
To the left: YOUNGER DAUGHTER – TRUSTEE.
Emily stared.
Claire said, “Grandma used Dad’s diagram when she helped with my seating chart.”
“So?”
“So Jonathan knew what that seat meant.”
Emily looked again.
Trustee.
Claire continued.
“At dinner, Grandma was going to announce that control of Harbor House had transferred to you. Jonathan was going to hand you the documents in front of everyone.”
Emily breathed out slowly.
“So you removed my place card to stop the announcement.”
“Yes.”
“And put me with the vendors.”
Claire closed her eyes.
“I wanted you invisible.”
The honesty hurt more than an excuse would have.
Emily folded the paper.
“Why did you hate me so much?”
Claire looked at her.
“I didn’t.”
“You had an interesting way of showing that.”
“I hated who I became next to you.”
Emily stayed silent.
Claire spoke carefully.
“You were younger, but Dad trusted you. You didn’t need people to rescue you. You left home and built your own life. Every time you did something right, I heard everything I was doing wrong.”
“That wasn’t my fault.”
“I know.”
“And it didn’t give you permission to punish me.”
“I know.”
Emily studied her sister.
Claire’s makeup was gone. Her hair was loose. The expensive wedding gown had been replaced with a borrowed sweatshirt and jeans.
She looked younger.
And older.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Claire said. “I’m asking you not to let my worst choices become your whole life.”
Emily looked out at the water.
For once, Claire was asking for nothing.
No money.
No cover story.
No rescue.
Then Claire reached into the box again.
“One more thing.”
Emily groaned. “Please stop saying that.”
Claire almost smiled.
She handed Emily a sealed envelope.
This one had never been opened.
On the front, in Thomas’s handwriting:
For my daughters. Together.
May you like
Emily looked at Claire.
Claire whispered, “I think we’re supposed to read it at the table.”
