Chapter 1

The orangery smelled of wet limestone and crushed mint. Rain had begun tapping the glass roof at six forty-five, and by seven fourteen it was a steady hiss against two hundred voices. Renee stood near the east doors with a glass of champagne she had not tasted, watching her daughter hold the Vandermeer blessing scroll like it was made of eggshell.

Junie sat at the head table in pale yellow, white sash tied too tight, dark curls already escaping their ribbon. She had practiced the blessing for two weeks. Every night after homework, she stood at the kitchen island and recited the old French words until Renee’s throat ached. Gus had promised her the honor. Gus was late, stuck at a lawyer’s office in town, but his empty founder’s chair waited beside her like a throne.

Cece stood to Junie’s right, ivory suit sharp as a blade, silver-blonde twist lacquered into place. She smiled for the parish. She smiled for the judge’s wife and the sugar broker and the priest. Then she looked down at Junie, and the smile thinned.

“Give it here,” Cece said.

Junie blinked. “Grandmother?”

“The scroll. You’ve held it long enough.”

A few guests near the head table pretended not to hear. Renee set her glass down and started forward, but the tables were crowded, and Paul was three steps behind Junie, talking to Theo, who had already managed to get butter on his collar.

Junie clutched the parchment to her chest. “Grandpa Gus said I could read it.”

“Grandpa Gus is not well.” Cece’s hand closed over the rolled parchment. “The name passes through sons.”

She yanked.

The red ribbon snapped. Junie’s fingers slipped. Her chair scraped back and tipped against the table edge, silver rattling, crystal singing. She went sideways into the long banquet table, catching the white cloth with one hand, then the marble floor with her chin. The sound was small and awful-a child’s body hitting stone under two hundred people trying not to gasp.

Renee was moving before she knew it. “Junie.”

Paul got there first. He dropped beside their daughter, then came up with his shoulders squared, stepping between Junie and his mother. “What is wrong with you?”

Cece had already turned to Theo. She held out the torn scroll. “Theo, come here. You’ll read.”

Theo looked at his sister on the floor. His lower lip trembled. “I don’t want to.”

“Theo.”

“No.”

The word rang in the orangery. Cece’s jaw tightened. She thrust the scroll toward him anyway, and when Paul blocked her arm, her elbow struck the chair where her gold clutch sat.

The clutch hit the marble and sprang open.

For a second, nothing. Then a small black rectangle slid across the polished floor, spinning once, twice, and stopping under Junie’s outstretched fingers. Its red LED blinked.

Junie lifted her head. Her chin was scraped raw. She looked at the recorder, then at her grandmother.

Cece’s face changed. The command drained out of it. Her painted mouth opened, closed, opened again. “Give that to me.”

Paul saw the panic before Renee did. He lunged, not at Cece, but down. His hand closed over Junie’s fist. “I’ve got it.”

“Paul.” Cece’s voice cracked. “That is mine.”

“Then you shouldn’t have dropped it.”

The doors at the west end banged open. Gus came through, rain dark on his suit, gray hair plastered to his forehead. He stopped when he saw Junie on the floor, Paul crouched over her, Cece reaching, the room silent.

“What happened?” Gus asked.

Cece turned. “Gus. You shouldn’t be up.”

“What happened to my granddaughter?”

Junie began to cry then, not loudly, but with the terrible hiccuping breath of a child who had been holding it in. Paul helped her stand. He kept his left hand closed around the recorder, pressing it into his jacket pocket as he rose.

Cece saw. Renee saw Cece see.

“Gus,” Cece said, her voice sliding back into honey. “You’re confused. You came from the lawyer’s. You need to sit down.”

“I know my own name.”

“Do you?” Cece stepped closer, took his arm with false tenderness. “You had an episode last week. You forgot the packing house meeting. You forgot Theo’s birthday dinner.”

Gus blinked. The room seemed to tilt around him. He put a hand to his temple. “I didn’t forget.”

“You did.” Cece’s fingers tightened on his sleeve. “Let’s get you inside. Renee, take the children home.”

Renee wanted to scream. She wanted to pry her mother-in-law’s hand off Gus’s arm and ask what was on the recorder. But Junie was bleeding, Paul was pale, and the parish was watching. She took Junie’s hand. Paul took Theo’s.

They left through the east doors while the rain came down harder, drumming the glass like a warning.

In the car, Junie whispered, “I saw it blinking.”

“I know, baby.”

“Grandmother said give it to me.”

Paul’s hand went to his jacket pocket. He didn’t answer.

Renee watched him in the rearview mirror. Her husband’s jaw was set. His fingers curled over the pocket like he was holding a live coal.

At home, after Junie’s chin was cleaned and bandaged, after Theo was put to bed with his stuffed alligator, Paul locked the bedroom door and pulled the recorder out.

It was still on.