Chapter 2 - THE WOMAN MY MOTHER ERASED
I got to my mother before she could turn around.
“Your sister?”
She caught my wrist.
“Emma, not here.”
“You just told me that woman is your sister.”
“I said I thought she was.”
“No. You didn’t.”
Luke stepped between us, his bow tie already hanging loose.
“Mom, stop. You know her.”
Mom looked at him sharply.
“Stay out of this.”
“That stopped being an option when hotel staff moved all of us upstairs.”
I froze.
“What?”
Luke pointed toward the service corridor.
“They sent us to the Cedar Room before the reception started. Said the Mercer side had made a private seating adjustment.”
“You were all upstairs?”
“Yeah. Aunt Teresa, Grandpa, everybody. They told us to wait there until someone came for us.”
I turned to Megan.
Her face tightened.
“I was told your family had agreed to use the Cedar Room temporarily.”
“By who?”
Megan hesitated.
Then looked at Diane.
“Mrs. Mercer called me at 10:47 this morning. She said Table 8 needed to be reassigned to priority guests and that your family was aware.”
Diane didn’t blink.
“I handled a difficult situation.”
“You lied.”
“I prevented a public scene.”
I almost laughed.
“You removed the bride’s family from the reception, and you thought that would prevent a scene?”
Noah stepped forward.
His voice was quieter than mine.
That made it more dangerous.
“Mom. Why is Lillian Vale here?”
Diane looked at him.
“She was invited.”
“By who?”
“Your father.”
Noah’s expression changed.
His father, Charles Mercer, had died eleven months earlier.
A heart attack at sixty-two.
Noah’s entire family had spent the year referring to the wedding as the first joyful event after his death.
“Dad invited someone to a wedding that happened almost a year after he died?”
“He made arrangements.”
“What arrangements?”
Diane didn’t answer.
The gray-haired woman—Lillian—had moved away from the table.
She stopped maybe ten feet from us.
Up close, she looked tired rather than elegant.
There were deep lines at the corners of her mouth and a slight tremor in her right hand.
She stared at my mother.
“Hello, Carol.”
My mother flinched at the sound of her name.
No greeting.
No hug.
No visible relief at seeing the sister she had supposedly lost.
Just fear.
I looked between them.
“You told us your sister left when you were young.”
Mom shut her eyes.
“She did.”
Lillian’s expression hardened.
“No. I disappeared.”
Mom whispered, “Please.”
“Those are different things.”
I felt something cold move through me.
Luke did too.
“You told us she ran away,” he said.
Mom looked at him helplessly.
“I told you what I could.”
I turned back to Lillian.
“How do you know Noah?”
Before she could answer, a young server approached holding a cream envelope.
“Mrs. Mercer?”
Four women turned their heads.
He looked embarrassed.
“The bride.”
I took it.
There was no name on the front.
Inside was a single card.
Do not let Noah leave before he learns why Lillian Vale was seated at Table 8.
I read it twice.
Then handed it to Noah.
He stared at the handwriting.
“Recognize it?” I asked.
“No.”
But something in his voice told me the message itself had struck a nerve.
“Why did you react to her name?”
Noah rubbed his thumb across the edge of the card.
“When I was in college, I opened my dad’s safe looking for my passport. There was an old envelope inside.”
“What was on it?”
“Lillian Vale.”
My mother made a quiet sound.
Noah turned toward her immediately.
“You knew my father?”
Mom shook her head too quickly.
“No.”
“Did Lillian?”
No answer.
I stepped closer.
“Mom, tell me the truth.”
Her clutch slipped out of her hand.
It hit the carpet.
Lipstick, keys, tissues, and several old photographs slid across the floor.
Luke bent down first.
He picked one up.
Then stopped moving.
I took it from him.
It was faded and slightly curled at the edges.
Two young women stood outside a brick hospital entrance.
One was unmistakably my mother in her twenties.
The other was Lillian.
Lillian was visibly pregnant.
On the back, someone had written:
St. Agnes.
July 12.
Before everything.
Noah read the words over my shoulder.
Then he looked at Lillian.
My mother lowered herself into the nearest chair.
“She was pregnant?” I asked.
Mom’s eyes filled.
“Yes.”
“What happened to the baby?”
Lillian answered for her.
“They told me he died.”
Noah looked at the photograph again.
Then at the place card with her name.
May you like
My mother whispered:
“But Lillian never believed them.”
