“Is she alive?”
“Yes.”
“Can I speak to her?”
Mara’s face tightened.
“She said I should decide that after I saw what you did with the picture.”
Julian absorbed the answer.
“What was I supposed to do?”
“Ask questions.”
Across the room, the pianist gave a broken laugh.
“That sounds like Isabella.”
His name was Mr. Bernard Hale. He had played at the Vale estate for more than thirty years, first for weddings and Christmas dinners, later at charity events the family sponsored. Isabella used to sit beside him at the piano after everyone else went to bed.
Julian looked at him.
“You really think she looks like my sister?”
Bernard’s eyes filled.
“I think you already know she does.”
The police arrived before Julian could ask anything else.
Celeste gave a statement. So did Mara, Julian, Bernard, and the restaurant manager. Security footage confirmed the slap. Celeste was cited and released with instructions about the next steps. She did not ask Julian to make a call or use the family name.
For the first time that night, she seemed to understand that the name itself was part of the problem.
Mara was examined by a paramedic. Her cheek was swollen but she did not need hospital care.
Julian offered to drive her home.
She refused.
“Then let me give you my number.”
“I already had it.”
He stared at her.
“My foster mother kept every number she ever found for your family.”
“Why didn’t she call?”
“She did.”
Julian went still.
“When?”
“More than once. Years ago.”
