“I’m sorry about Hugh,” he said. “I’ll miss him terribly.”
She pulled away. “It’s not the same without him, even though we spent so much time apart. I talked to him every day, you know?” Her eyes brimmed.
“I know.” Hardison clasped her upper arm until she patted his hand and sat down again. Then he made the rounds, meeting everyone and getting a glass of wine. I could see why he had risen so high in politics. Each person he talked to got his complete attention. When Mother introduced him to Nat, she suggested they discuss Nat’s candidacy for Senate.
Nat looked as if he’d gotten caught in his own joke. “I—”
“Oh, stop,” Mother said. “You know you want it. You’ve been reading books on campaign finance for months.” She went back to her hard chair across the room, the queen orchestrating her court. Hardison settled onto the ottoman, looking as at home as a polar bear on his favorite iceberg.
“So Clara,” Bailey practically squeaked in her excitement. “Are you sticking around or what?”
“I’m going to Paris,” I teased her. “I leave in early January.” I paused, then decided I was being too mean. “Want to come? I’ve got tickets for Fashion Week.” She looked unsure, so I smiled. “When I get back, I’m going to work with Ernie at father’s company. Well, my company. And Richard has agreed to work for us as our new IT chief.”
Bailey fell on me in a giant hug. “Yes, I’ll go to Fashion Week! Are you kidding? Oh, I’m so so happy. So-so-so happy.” She curled in next to me.
“Where will you live?” Mother refused to meet my eyes.
I took a deep breath. I’d rehearsed this, but it was never the same when you had to say it, especially not when a lifetime of difficulty weighted the words. I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know if Mother felt the way I did: that we had come to some kind of accord, a place from which we might be able to move forward as adults, flaws and all.
Everyone was waiting, watching me expectantly. I said, “That depends on you. I can find a place, if that’s more convenient, but I would prefer to stay here, with you, for now—until the divorce is final and while I learn the business.”
The room held its breath.
“You can stay here as long as you like.” She shrugged in that offhanded way she had that indicated it didn’t matter one way or the other what I chose. She wouldn’t meet my eyes.
“I’d like that very much,” I said.
When Mother looked up, her eyes were filled with tears.
Clara Montague will return in: The Fallen
Acknowledgements
I would like to thank the following people, who have been instrumental in this book coming to life, and I thank them with all my heart:
Carol Randel, for multiple draft readings and friendship. Rebecca Hussey and Rick Magee, for encouragement and reading at an early stage, and Rick for keeping me straight with the bike stuff. Mat Johnson, for putting on a great workshop that helped me focus Clara’s motivations.
Steve Waldinger, Shapiro, Gettinger and Waldinger, Mount Kisco, New York, for legal advice. All law errors are my deliberate and willful twisting of the legal system to fit my own devious ends. Ross Seyfried, for saying thirty years ago, “Figure out what the end is; then work your way back,” and for answering all the gun questions. Rosemary Harris, Joanne Dobson, and Reed Farrel Coleman for giving feedback on parts or all of the manuscript. Donna Miele for the name of a charity when I needed one. The MFA program at Manhattanville College, for reconnecting me with a community of writers and reminding me to keep at it, no matter what.
Ti Locke, for being a thoughtful editor, and my publisher, Barking Rain Press, for inviting me into their community of writers.
And to my husband Van, without whom the world just wouldn’t exist.
Also from Laurel Peterson
Talking to the Mirror
That’s the Way the Music Sounds
(Re)Interpretations: The Shapes of Justice
in Women’s Experience (Co-Editor)
Coming Soon from Laurel Peterson
The Fallen: Clara Montague Mysteries, Book 2
www.LaurelPeterson.com
About Laurel Peterson
Before Laurel Peterson became an English professor, she sold housewares, catered, managed advertising accounts, and worked as a tree company secretary. Her writing career has included a column on local history, serving as the editor of the literary journal, Inkwell, and two poetry chapbooks, That’s the Way the Music Sounds and Talking to the Mirror. She co-edited a collection of essays on women’s justice titled (Re)Interpretations: The Shapes of Justice in Women’s Experience. She and her husband live in Connecticut and Vermont. Find out more at her website or on Facebook.
www.LaurelPeterson.com
About Barking Rain Press
Did you know that five media conglomerates publish eighty percent of the books in the United States? As the publishing industry continues to contract, opportunities for emerging and mid-career authors are drying up. Who will write the literature of the twenty-first century if just a handful of profit-focused corporations are left to decide who—and what—is worthy of publication?
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