Chapter 1
“You packed her things. Now pack yours.”
Corinne stared at me.
Nobody else moved.
Good.
Mabel remained beside the leather bench with her pillow crushed against her chest.
Six years old.
Birthday dress.
Eyes lowered because thirty adults had just watched her stepmother explain why a dog bed was apparently sufficient housing for her.
I crouched.
“Mabel.”
She looked at me.
“Is everything you own in that suitcase?”
She shook her head.
“No.”
“What’s missing?”
“My blue bunny.”
Of course.
The stuffed rabbit her mother had given her before she died.
“And my night-light.”
I looked at Corinne.
“Where?”
She folded her arms.
“Storage.”
That answer irritated me more than shouting would have.
“You packed a six-year-old’s comfort things into storage on her birthday.”
“She needs to stop depending on baby objects.”
Mabel moved closer to me.
I rose.
“Who packed the suitcase?”
Corinne said nothing.
Interesting.
I opened it myself.
Three dresses.
Two cardigans.
Shoes.
Toothbrush.
Hairbrush.
Underwear.
Pajamas.
Enough for several days.
Not a room transfer.
Travel.
I looked up.
“Where was she going?”
Corinne’s expression changed.
There.
“Mabel.”
I kept my eyes on my wife.
“Where did Corinne say you were sleeping tomorrow?”
Mabel whispered:
“Aunt Celestine’s lake house.”
The ballroom became quieter.
Corinne’s sister did not need Mabel’s bedroom because she was visiting.
Mabel was being removed so her sister could take it.
“How long?”
Mabel shrugged.
“Corinne said until Daddy gets used to it.”
That sentence settled into me like ice.
I looked at my wife.
“Used to what?”
No answer.
Then one of my oldest captains, Everett Shaw, spoke from the far end of the table.
“Ambrose.”
I turned.
He looked uncomfortable.
“I thought you approved the family-wing change.”
There.
Not one cruel stepmother.
A story had already been circulating.
May you like
Corinne had not merely packed my daughter.
She had begun telling people I wanted her moved.
