Page 73 of Don't Tell

I glance at Cade and hold my composure.

He is not looking at me.

Oh. We are still a secret?

Vivienne looks at me just for a second.

Beau opens his mouth. He closes it and changes course. He steps past Cade and takes my hand in both of his.

"I'm so glad you came."

"Thank you."

"What kind of work do you do?"

"Painting, mostly. Sketches when I have free time."

"Has my brother been overbearing about it? He gets that way. I tell him not to."

"He's been — "

"You don't have to be polite. I’ve known him for twenty-one years. He’s overbearing. I take it as a compliment to you."

I almost smile.

He squeezes my hand and lets it go.

Vivienne steps forward. She takes my hand. "I'm so glad you could make it."

"Thank you. I'm — I'm sorry for your loss."

She nods, slowly. She does not let go of my hand for one beat longer than the social rule allows, and her eyes don’t leave my face for that whole beat, and then she lets go and steps back.

Henry shakes my hand last. His palm is warm.

"How was the drive?"

"Fine."

"Long stretch out past the lake?"

"Yes."

"Come in. Come in. I think there's coffee. Beau, is there coffee?"

"There is, Dad."

We go inside.

The service is small and private. Forty people are in folding chairs in the long room at the back of the house. The casket is closed. There is a framed photograph on an easel beside it — a man in his 50s on a sailboat, squinting at the sun, his hand half-raised against the light.

I sit three rows back next to Beau.

He has positioned himself beside me without making it a big deal. I have noticed since we walked through the door that Beau notices everything and pretends he does not, which is the same thing Frank does at the Cresswell, except Beau is warm and Frank is silent.

Cade is in the front row.

I watch his shoulders. They are locked. His jaw is tight. He's pretending to be calm, and he's good at it. I can see him doing it. I don't think anyone else in the room can. They've known him his whole life, but they don't see what I see.