Parker and Tyler had lived here for much of their marriage, but Parker didn't spare the rooms more than a glance as she headed down the long hall to the suite she'd shared with Tyler. Realizing I was following, she turned, a faint flush on her cheeks.
"You don't have to come all the way. I mean, you can wait in the sitting room, or ask Carla to bring you tea. I'm just packing some things."
I studied her flushed cheeks, curious. If I didn't know Parker, I'd have thought she was planning to pack away some goodies she could sell for cash. It wouldn't be the first time a suitcase left this house heavier than it should be thanks to someone's light fingers. People could be very weird, including, maybe especially, the very wealthy. But Parker would rather starve than make off with some of my mother's endless supply of expensive knick knacks.
I had to know what she was up to. Fortunately, I had an excellent reason to follow her to her suite. "I'm here to watch your back. I can't do that over tea in the drawing room. The front door isn't the only way into this place."
"I know but–" She shook her head, exasperated with herself, I think. Or me. It didn't matter. Either way, she wasn't going anywhere without me. Thanks to our teenage escapades, Tyler and I knew every way to sneak out of this place. And how to sneak back in.
With a sigh of resignation, she turned back down the hall, pulling her sleek metal carry on behind her on silent wheels. I hated that she flinched when she pushed open the doors of the suite she'd shared with Tyler. The sitting room was immaculate, with no sign anyone had ever occupied the space, the chair pushed in to the delicate writing desk just so, the fireplace laid with logs no one ever burned, especially not in July.
Parker kept moving, passing through the sitting room without giving it another glance. She came to a stop in the bedroom, picking up her suitcase and laying it open on the bed. A few trips to the closet and she had most of the case filled with a variety of odds and ends. A few scarf boxes, some shoes, carefully stored in protective bags.
When she was finished with the clothes, she stood in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, and made a slow turn, her eyes scanning the room from floor to ceiling. Turning to me, she said, "Don't judge," her cheeks flushed pink.
Before I could ask what she meant, she dropped to her knees beside the bed and shoved at the mattress, pushing it back until she revealed the box spring. Curious, I leaned over her to see her carefully detach a piece of the box spring cover to reveal a hollowed-out section containing a wooden box.
Opening the box, Parker let out a sigh of relief. Inside, I spotted several small velvet boxes–ring boxes, I assumed–and a few larger boxes that likely contained bracelets and necklaces. And, curiously, a clumsy, brightly colored ceramic cat. If not for the comically oversized whiskers, I'm not sure I would have known what animal it was supposed to be. Parker stroked a finger over the little cat's head.
"Did you make that?" I asked.
Parker's head shot up, and I wondered if, for a moment, she'd forgotten I was there. "No, my little sister Sterling made it. We had a kitten once." Reaching for a scarf she'd taken from the closet, she wrapped up the ceramic cat as if it were the most valuable item in the box. I had a feeling that, for Parker, it was.
"The rest is jewelry," she continued. "Things Tyler bought me, mostly." A guilty look at me before her eyes skipped away. Standing, she crossed her arms over her chest, almost hugging herself. "I asked your mother if she'd take them back, but she refused. She was adamant. So I'm taking them." Parker's chin lifted, as if she was braced for me to argue.
"You should," I agreed.
Parker's arms dropped to her sides. "Even though your mother paid for all of this and not Tyler? Or me?"
I slid my hands in my pockets. "Once, years ago, I asked my mother what the deal was with men giving women jewelry. I was barely a teenager and couldn't imagine getting something so useless as a gift. Why not a car, or video games? You know, the important stuff."
Parker let out a surprised laugh. "I can see diamonds being low on the list of acceptable gifts for a teenage boy."
I smiled at the memory. "My mother said that my father gave her jewelry because she liked it and he loved her. But that, historically, there were a lot of reasons men gave women jewelry. To showcase wealth and status. As an investment. And often, women preferred jewelry for the security it provided. A woman might not have her own bank account or property, but if she had her jewelry, she had assets to work with. If she needed them."
I inclined my head at Parker's small hoard of black velvet boxes. "I don't know how accurate my mother's grasp of history is, but she knew what she was doing when she told you to keep anything Tyler gave you."
Parker just stared at me, her eyes filling with tears. "You think so?"
I couldn't do it. I couldn't stand there and watch her cry. Crossing the room, I pulled her into my arms, stroking a comforting hand down her back. "I know so," I assured her. Her back hitched against my hand. "You know my mother loves you, don't you? She thinks of you like a daughter, Parker. That isn't going to change."
Parker pulled away, abruptly turning and striding past me to the bathroom. She emerged a few seconds later with a tissue, wiping away her tears. "I wish I was sure about that. Tyler is her son. I wouldn't blame her."
"I would–" I began.
"Don't," Parker interrupted. "This is hard for her, too."
"I know. But it's hardest on you."
Parker's shoulders jerked in a hard shrug. "I married him."
"So you deserve it? That's bullshit. Don't blame yourself, Parker."
She wasn't listening to me. Kicking off her heels, she dragged a chair over to a built-in bookcase filled with a handful of books and shelves of decorative objets d'art. Climbing on top of the chair, she reached for a high shelf, teetering on her toes, her hand groping blindly behind a wide vase before she let out a little triumphant cry and stepped down, another small velvet box in her hand.
Her cheeks pink, she crossed the room to tuck the box into her cache of jewelry. Then she moved the chair to another spot on the bookcase and retrieved yet another small velvet box. After that, she revealed a hidden panel in her dresser. Another in Tyler's. I helped her shove the mattress off the box spring on the other side and she removed two more boxes. When she was finished, the wooden box she'd revealed first was packed full.
Arranging the contents so nothing would be damaged, Parker closed the suitcase and engaged the lock. Sliding her feet back in her heels, she turned to me, and explained, "Tyler was stealing. From me, from Claudia. Selling them for cash to gamble or just flash around. So I started hiding things. And sometimes he would break things. Things that meant something to me."
