Chapter 2 - The Night Before Julia Died
Daniel did not open the envelope.
That surprised Ava more than anything else.
He carried it to the coffee table and placed it down carefully.
Vanessa remained near the wall.
Ava stood beside the fireplace, staring at the woman who had spent seven years acting as if Julia's name made the house untidy.
“You hid something from my mother?”
Vanessa looked at her.
“Your mother gave it to me.”
Ava laughed once.
“No.”
“She did.”
“You hated her.”
Vanessa flinched.
“I didn't.”
“You just ripped her picture up.”
“I know what I did.”
“Then don't tell me you loved her.”
Daniel cut in.
“Enough.”
Ava turned.
“No.”
He stopped.
She pointed toward Vanessa.
“She burned my mother and now we're supposed to have a calm conversation?”
Daniel looked at the torn photograph on the hearth.
His voice lowered.
“No.”
Then he looked at Vanessa.
“We're supposed to have the truth.”
Vanessa stared at the envelope.
“It was the night before the accident.”
Daniel's face tightened.
“What night?”
“The last night.”
“I know what you meant.”
“No, you don't.”
Vanessa crossed her arms, then uncrossed them.
“She gave me the envelope at about eleven.”
Daniel looked at the grandfather clock across the room.
As if twelve years could be measured backward from it.
“At eleven Julia had already left.”
Vanessa shook her head.
Daniel stopped.
“She left this house at nine fifteen.”
“Yes.”
“I watched her drive away.”
“Yes.”
“She never came back.”
Vanessa looked at him.
“She did.”
Ava turned toward her father.
Daniel's face had emptied.
“No.”
“She came back at ten thirty.”
“You're lying.”
Vanessa said nothing.
Daniel walked toward her.
“She died forty minutes from here.”
“I know.”
“The police reconstructed the route.”
“I know.”
“She left after our argument.”
“She left twice.”
Daniel stared.
Ava suddenly understood why Vanessa had been afraid of the brick.
The envelope was not simply something from a dead woman.
It had been hidden inside a story Daniel believed he already knew.
“What happened when she came back?” Ava asked.
Vanessa's eyes moved toward her.
“She wanted to see you.”
Ava's throat tightened.
Daniel whispered:
“Why didn't you tell me?”
Vanessa looked at him.
“You weren't here.”
“After.”
“I know.”
“After the accident.”
“I know.”
“For twelve years?”
Vanessa lowered her eyes.
Ava stepped closer.
“What did Mom do?”
“She went upstairs.”
“To my room?”
“Yes.”
Ava swallowed.
“How long?”
“Maybe five minutes.”
“What did she say?”
Vanessa's mouth tightened.
“Ava—”
“What did she say?”
“She said you were asleep.”
Ava stared at her.
Vanessa continued.
“She came downstairs holding that photograph.”
Ava looked toward the charred piece.
“She wrote on it?”
“Yes.”
“And the envelope?”
Vanessa nodded.
“She sat right there.”
She pointed to the far end of the sofa.
The same sofa Vanessa had replaced twice and then put back because Daniel disliked the newer ones.
“She wrote for about ten minutes.”
Daniel looked at the envelope.
“You watched her?”
“No.”
“Did you read it?”
“No.”
“Did she tell you what was inside?”
Vanessa hesitated.
“Some of it.”
Daniel's expression changed.
“What?”
“She said you might believe the wrong thing about why she left.”
Daniel stepped back.
Ava watched him.
Her father had told the story of Julia's death only twice in Ava's memory.
Mom and I argued.
She drove away.
There was an accident.
He never said what the argument was about.
Ava had assumed grief kept him from details.
Now she wondered whether the details had kept him from grief.
Daniel reached for the envelope.
Vanessa said:
“She told me not to give it to you that night.”
He stopped.
“Why?”
“She said if she came back in the morning, she wanted to explain everything herself.”
Ava whispered:
“But she didn't.”
Vanessa looked at her.
“No.”
Daniel's hand remained above the envelope.
“And after she died?”
Vanessa didn't answer.
He looked at her.
“What did Julia tell you to do if she didn't come back?”
Vanessa's face tightened.
Ava saw the answer before she heard it.
“She told me the photograph would decide.”
Daniel looked toward the fireplace.
Vanessa continued.
“She said if Ava still had that picture someday, you'd kept your promise.”
“What promise?”
Vanessa looked at him.
Daniel didn't know.
That frightened Ava more than the envelope.
Vanessa said:
“To let her remember Julia.”
Ava turned slowly toward her father.
Daniel stared at the charred photograph.
Then Vanessa added:
“Julia said if the photograph disappeared, I was supposed to leave the envelope where it was.”
Ava looked at her.
“You knew that.”
May you like
Vanessa didn't move.
“And you just threw the photo into the fire.”
