Mom moved toward the coffeemaker while Genevieve and her dad ferried the breakfast platters to the round kitchen table. The numerous panes of the bow window highlighted the backyard garden, which dripped late-summer color beneath a hazy morning sky. Mom had set out the periwinkle and white Limoges china, which meant that she was feeling especially emotional this morning. A daunting prospect, considering that Mom was very emotional at the best of times.
Joy, grief, wonder, hurt, love. Caroline Woodward, the belle of Athens, experienced them all with a wholeheartedness that frequently exhausted Genevieve.
If Mom were a line on a graph swooping upward and downward, her dad was the line through the middle. He liked to say that his wife’s moods passed him on their way up, then passed him again on their way down.
“What happened last night?” Mom asked once they’d taken their seats. “Where were you?” If displeasure were visible, it would’ve been shooting from her in orange spikes.
Genevieve repeated the story she’d given Sam, about how tired she’d been behind the wheel. This time, she said she’d stopped for the night at a B&B in the town of Chatsworth. She explained that she’d stretched out to rest her eyes for a second, then accidentally slept clean through till morning.
“We tried calling and texting,” Mom said. “Natasha tried calling and texting.”
“I saw that this morning when I woke up. I had my phone on Do Not Disturb. Every once in a while I put it on that setting and then forget to take it off.”
“Genevieve.” Mom’s lips thinned. “We called the police. They were out searching for your crumpled car.”
She winced. “I truly did not mean to cause you worry. I absolutely should’ve called you before I lay down.”
Mom’s elegant face softened a degree, and Genevieve wondered,When did I become such an expert liar?The vine of shame unfurled even farther.
After today, no more pills.
Genevieve doctored her coffee, then took a long sip. She filled her plate, ate, and made the appropriate murmurs of pleasure because this situation required her to go through the motions.
“You were mysterious about your reason for coming to visit,” Mom said. “I worried that your disappearance might have had something to do with that.”
“I came for a few different reasons. One, I’ve blocked off the next several months to complete my study, and I really needed a change of scenery. Two, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you, Natasha, and the kids.”
“Far too long,” Caroline agreed.
“Three, I wanted to discuss this with you.” She unzipped the outer pocket of her purse and produced an envelope. “I received this letter two weeks ago.” She passed it over.
Mom extracted the single sheet of white printer paper, then pulled on fashionable reading glasses. Her bright, almond-shaped hazel eyes were rimmed in thick eyelashes.
Her spine stiffened as she read. Wordlessly, she handed the letter to Dad.
“‘I know what your parents did,’” he read aloud, frowning. “‘And after all we’ve suffered, it’s hard to watch you bask in your fame and money. Your parents aren’t going to get away with it.’”
“Who sent this?” Mom asked.
“I have no idea. It’s unsigned and the return address listed doesn’t exist.”
Mom flipped the envelope over to study the return address.
“What’s the writer talking about?” Genevieve asked. “What does he or she mean when they say they know what you did?”
Mom met her eyes. “They can’t mean anything by it, because we haven’t done anything.”
“Nothing?”
“No, of course not,” Mom said. “Nothing.”
“The letter writer made it all up?” Genevieve asked.
“Yes,” Mom answered.
“But why would someone do that?”
Mom rotated her coffee cup. “Now that you’re as well-known and prominent as you are, you get all kinds of mail, don’t you? The good, the bad, and the ugly?”
