“Who did?”
Before she could answer, Vanessa spoke from the doorway.
“I did.”
Maxwell stared at her.
She had managed to stand, although she leaned heavily against the wall.
“You brought her here.”
“Yes.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
For a moment, rage almost made him blind.
“You’ve known for twelve years.”
Vanessa’s lips parted.
Cecilia interrupted.
“She became attached to Eleanor. It was unhealthy from the beginning. We tried to explain—”
“Stop talking.”
Vanessa’s voice was barely above a whisper.
Her mother turned.
“What?”
“I said stop.”
Something in the room shifted.
Vanessa had spent her life making disagreement sound like apology. Maxwell knew that voice. He had watched her soften complaints, laugh away insults, and turn every demand from Cecilia into a request she was happy to fulfill.
He had never heard her speak like this.
Cecilia took a step toward her.
Nora moved between them.
Vanessa looked at Maxwell.
“I need to tell you everything. But she needs a doctor first.”
“Not that doctor,” Eleanor whispered.
“No,” Vanessa said. “Never that doctor again.”
The paramedics found Eleanor dehydrated, underweight, and exhausted.
Maxwell watched them check her pulse and blood pressure. Every small procedure terrified him. When one medic asked permission to place a monitor lead beneath her shawl, he nearly thanked the man for asking.
Permission seemed suddenly enormous.
Eleanor refused to leave until she had spoken.
The paramedic crouched beside her.
“We can keep talking downstairs, Mrs. Anderson.”
“Will my son come?”
“Yes.”
She looked at Maxwell.
He took her hand.
“I’m staying.”
Her eyes closed briefly.
For a terrible second, he thought she had lost consciousness.
Then she said, “I used to imagine that.”
“What?”
“You saying you were staying.”
He pressed her fingers to his mouth.
Across the room, Vanessa turned away.
The paramedics brought a wheelchair from the ambulance. As they helped Eleanor into it, her shawl slipped.
There were old pale marks around one wrist.
Maxwell saw them.
So did Nora.
Voss began to speak.
“Restraints are sometimes medically—”
“Don’t,” Maxwell said.
It was not loud.
The doctor stopped.
They settled Eleanor in the downstairs library while the ambulance crew prepared to transport her.
The guests were being asked to remain long enough to provide their names. The string quartet had packed away its instruments. Beyond the ballroom doors, someone was crying.
Maxwell sat close to his mother.
Vanessa stood near the fireplace, her wedding gown a bright, absurd shape in the dim room.
Nora remained beside the door.
Cecilia and Voss were being questioned separately.
For the first time, nobody interrupted Vanessa.
“I was seventeen when Mother took me to Greyhaven.”
She stared at the cold hearth.
“She said Eleanor had survived the accident, but her mind hadn’t. She said telling you would destroy what was left of your father’s health.”
