I squeezed her hand.
“You already did, when you stood up.”
She leaned her head against my shoulder.
For a moment, I was not a betrayed wife or a woman in a legal battle or an old headline people were forwarding to one another over breakfast.
I was simply a mother.
And that, more than anything, reminded me who I had always been before Thomas taught everyone to call me his shadow.
Three days later, Brooke came to see me.
Diane said not to meet her.
Rebecca said absolutely not.
Michael said he would sit in the room and glare until she left.
I chose the greenhouse.
It had been my place for thirty years. Thomas hated it because it was humid, quiet, and full of things that grew without asking his permission.
Brooke arrived in beige trousers, a cream coat, and no jewelry.
Without diamonds, she looked younger.
Not innocent.
Just less expensive.
Henry escorted her in and remained by the door with the expression of a man hoping someone would give him permission to use a garden hose.
Brooke stood between the lemon trees.
“Thank you for seeing me.”
“I was curious,” I said.
Her mouth tightened.
“You think I’m stupid.”
“No. I think you’re ambitious and careless.”
The words struck her harder than an insult would have.
She looked away.
“Thomas lied to me.”
“Yes.”
“He said you were already gone. Not physically, but…” She gestured vaguely, searching for a softer word than useless. “He said the marriage had been over for years.”
I touched the leaf of a potted jasmine.
“Did he say that before or after he gave you my bracelet?”
Brooke flushed.
“I’m not proud of that.”
“Pride does seem to be in short supply lately.”
She took a breath.