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“Come with me,” I ordered.
She followed me downstairs and sat beside me on the sofa. I took her hands in mine. She wore her soft, innocent, and trusting smile, but she was a little frightened by my intense look. I could feel her fingers tremble.
“It is time for you to tell me a secret, Sylvia.”
“Papa’s secret?”
“Yes. Did he tell you to let Arden make the baby?”
I could see the wrestling going on in her mind.
“It’s all right to tell now. Adelle has been born.”
She nodded.
“It was Papa who told you that we would both be pregnant?”
“Papa said so.” She looked like she was going to cry.
“It’s all right, Sylvia. Don’t worry. Papa talks to me, too.”
She smiled. “I know,” she said.
She wanted to go back upstairs and watch Adelle. She was never comfortable being too far from her. I poured myself some blackberry brandy and sat for a while. Sylvia came down to tell me that Adelle had woken up and that she was preparing her bottle. As if she could sense something different and important was going to happen but was afraid of it, she asked if she could take her dinner upstairs and eat alongside Adelle tonight.
I told her I thought that was a good idea. I had no intention of eating anything myself. I drank some more brandy and looked at some old pictures. I dozed for a while, and when I woke, it was dark. The sun had gone down, and I hadn’t yet put on any lights. I decided to turn on only the lamp by the sofa. It had a very weak bulb. Momma had liked it that way. She could sprawl out and fall asleep here. I thought the low illumination had comforted her. I recalled how her arm would slide off the edge, and when I was a little girl, I would crawl up to the sofa and hold her hand. Sometimes she’d wake up and smile at me, and sometimes she wouldn’t wake even though I’d held her hand for quite a while.
I wished I could hold her hand now.
Hours later, I saw light from the headlights of Arden’s car streak through the windows and trace along the walls before going dark. Soon after, I heard him open the front door and mutter about no one leaving a light on for him. When he first entered the salon, he didn’t see me. He looked like he had drunk too much, as usual, and stood there acclimating himself to the subdued light. Finally, he noticed me and shuddered.
“Christ,” he said. “You look like a ghost, and in this house, that’s not an exaggeration.”
“Do I? Maybe you’re seeing Aunt Mercy Marie.”
“Why are you sitting in the dark? And why didn’t you leave lights on for me?”
“I feel like I’ve been in the dark for a long, long time in this house, Arden.”
“Hmm,” he said. “Well, you can blame your father for that.”
“Apparently, I can blame him for a lot more.”
“Huh?” He unbuttoned his jacket.
“We had a visitor today, Arden.”
“What visitor? Did Dr. Prescott come here?”
“No, it wasn’t Dr. Prescott, and it wasn’t Mrs. Matthews.”
“Well, who the hell was it? What’s the mystery?”
“It was Mrs. Price.”
“Price? Why the hell would she come here?”
“You never told me he had died.”
