Chapter 34 A Face She Knew
Sloane
I waited for a second, my knife poised over a block of cheddar. "Aunt Claire?" I called out.
There was no answer. The house was silent again.
"Aunt Claire? Did you hear me?"
I set the knife down and wiped my hands on a towel. I stepped out of the kitchen and walked toward the hallway.
I saw her standing there, perfectly still. She was holding one of the framed pictures in her hands. She had taken it off the shelf.
She looked like a statue, her back perfectly straight, but I could see the slight tremor in her shoulders. She wasn't just looking at the photo; she was leaning into it, as if she were trying to make sense of a dream.
"Is everything okay?" I asked, slowing my pace. "You were saying something about a photographer."
Claire didn't look at me. She was staring at the photo with an expression I had never seen on her face before.
It wasn't her usual polite smile or even her worried "aunt" look. It was something deeper. It was like she had just seen a ghost.
In all the years I had known my Aunt Claire, she was the queen of composure. She never frowned, she never panicked, and she certainly never looked haunted.
But right now, she looked like she had just seen a ghost.
Her face was pale, and her grip on the frame was tight.
From where I stood, the glass reflection from the lighting above didn’t let me see which picture it was. It was just a glare of bright light and a silver frame. And the silence between us made me scared to approach.
There was something about her energy that told me not to get too close.
"Aunt Claire?" I said again, standing just a few feet away.
She didn't move her eyes from the image. It was as if she were under a spell. Then when she finally spoke, her voice was very low, hardly more than a whisper, but it carried a weight that made my skin crawl..
"Sloane... did your grandmother ever mention why she wanted you to marry Cade? Did she ever give you a real reason?"
I froze. The question was so unexpected it made my skin crawl.
It felt less like curiosity and more like a test.
Why was she asking about my grandmother's motives now? And why was she asking it while looking at one of Cade's photos?
"No," I said, my heart starting to thud in my ears. "She must have wanted us to reconcile our differences. Maybe she thought we were wrong to let our relationship end like that. That it might have been best for the family. Why are you asking? I... I’ve wished I could ask her too, sometimes."
Claire finally looked up at me. For a split second, she looked terrified, not fragile, but like a woman who had just realized she was in the presence of an enemy.
The look in her eyes was sharp. Then, like a shutter closing, the mask came back. She blinked, her expression turning into that cold, polite Hartford stare.
"It was just a thought," she said softly. She slowly, carefully, placed the picture back on the shelf.
"She was a very complicated woman, your grandmother. She did nothing without a reason."
She turned away from the wall and smoothed her coat. "I’m sorry, dear. I just realized the time. I really must get going. Richard is expecting me for dinner."
"Wait, you won't stay?" I asked, confused by the sudden change in energy. "I just started cooking. It’ll only be a few minutes."
"Maybe another time," she said, already walking toward the front door.
Her movements were hurried now. She looked like she couldn't wait to get out of the house.
I followed her to the foyer, my head spinning. "Is something wrong? Did I say something?"
"Not at all," she said, her hand on the doorknob.
She opened the door and stepped out into the cool evening air. She paused for a second and looked back at me with a smile.
"Congratulations again, Sloane."
She didn't wait for a response. She walked down the steps and disappeared into her waiting car.
I stood in the doorway for a long time, watching the red taillights of her car fade away. The whole interaction felt wrong. One minute she was checking on me, and the next, she was running away.
Right after looking at a photograph.
I closed the door and locked it. My curiosity was burning. I walked back into the hallway, my eyes searching the small gallery of frames. It wasn't hard to find the one she had been holding. It was the only one that was crooked, tilted just slightly out of alignment from all the others.
I reached out and picked it up.
My breath caught in my throat. I felt a cold chill run from the back of my neck down to my heels.
It was a small, candid photo.
In it, Cade was younger, his face less hardened by the world. He was laughing, looking away from the camera.
And standing next to him, with her arm looped through his, was a girl. She had the same bright eyes and the same relentless smile I had seen in the newspaper clippings Cade kept.
It was Lily.
My stomach gave a sick, hollow lurch. I stood there in the dark hallway, staring at the picture.
Aunt Claire had recognized her. She had looked at Cade’s dead sister and turned white as a sheet.
I felt like the floor was falling out from under me. I was alone in the dark, surrounded by the belongings of a man I didn't truly know, and the ghosts of a family I was starting to fear.
I leaned my head against the wall, the silence of the house suddenly feeling very loud. My grandmother hadn't just picked a husband for me.
She had picked a man whose sister was part of a secret my family was willing to kill for.
And Aunt Claire knew it.