Chapter 4 - The Woman Who Was Supposed to Be Sick
Caleb returned upstairs, but not to the altar.
The ballroom had dissolved into whispers.
Guests stood in small groups. The string quartet had stopped playing. Sloane remained beneath the floral arch with her bouquet hanging at her side.
When she saw him, relief crossed her face.
Then she noticed he was alone.
“Where is she?”
“You tell me.”
Sloane lowered her voice. “Caleb, please.”
“Your father knew where they were taking my mother.”
“He’s trying to protect you.”
“From what?”
She looked toward Thomas.
Again, that tiny glance.
Again, the silent agreement.
Caleb felt something cold settle in his chest.
“How long have you all been talking about my mother behind my back?”
Thomas stepped forward. “Your mother has been unstable since your grandmother died.”
“That was eighteen months ago.”
“Yes.”
“And you told me she was staying with Aunt Diane in Vermont.”
Thomas’s jaw tightened.
Caleb’s voice dropped. “Was she?”
No answer.
“Dad.”
“No.”
The word seemed to suck the air from the ballroom.
Caleb stared at him.
“Where was she?”
Thomas looked at the floor.
“A private wellness residence outside Bedford.”
“You put Mom in a facility?”
“It was not a facility.”
“What do you call a place she had to escape from barefoot in the rain?”
Sloane interrupted. “She wasn’t supposed to leave.”
Everyone nearest them went silent.
Caleb turned slowly.
Sloane realized what she had said.
Her face drained.
“What did you mean?”
“I mean—if she was under care—”
“You knew where she was.”
“Caleb…”
“You knew.”
Thomas stepped between them. “Son, listen to me. Your mother signed herself in.”
“Then why didn’t she tell me?”
“She didn’t want to burden you.”
A voice came from the back of the room.
“That’s a lie.”
Everyone turned.
A woman in a navy catering uniform stood near the service doors.
She was in her sixties, gray-haired, trembling.
Caleb recognized her.
“Mrs. Alvarez?”
Rosa Alvarez had worked in the Hart family home for twenty-two years before retiring six months earlier.
She walked forward carrying a white envelope.
“Your mother tried to send you this three times,” Rosa said. “Your father stopped every letter.”
Thomas’s face went blank.
Rosa held the envelope out to Caleb.
May you like
Across the front, in Margaret’s handwriting, were five words.
CALEB, DO NOT MARRY HER.
