Chapter 2

The headlights swept the wall again, slower this time.

A truck turned off the county road and stopped in the yard.

A door slammed out past the barn.

Every woman at the table turned toward the window.

Della's face changed fast.

She put the hostess smile back on like a coat.

"Ladies, I think we're done for tonight."

Nobody moved.

"You heard her," Opal said. "Go on home."

She said it gently.

The women stood and found their coats.

They did not look at the boy.

Boots hit the mudroom floor.

Snow came off a shoulder and scattered across the linoleum.

Clay Rutledge filled the doorway.

He was forty-eight, wide through the chest, sun-cracked at the eyes.

He looked at the open back door first.

Then at his son holding the housekeeper's skirt.

Then at his wife.

"What's going on in here?"

Della got there before anyone else.

"She's confused, Clay."

She said it soft and patient.

"She's been telling people that story for months."

"What story?"

"That she's Sarah's mother."

Clay's jaw moved.

"She is Sarah's mother."

"I know, honey. I mean the other part."

She stepped closer and lowered her voice.

"She's been saying she's Cooper's grandmother."

"After everything we did for her. After the money she took."

Opal did not answer that.

She stood with one hand resting on Cooper's head.

Clay rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand.

"Opal. Tell me she's wrong."

Opal looked up at him.

"I told you twice," she said.

"Twice you didn't hear me."

"Then it's true."

Nobody in the room needed him to say it out loud.

The women were still bunched in the mudroom doorway.

Della tried once more.

"Clay. She put her hands on me."

"In front of my club."

"I can have her charged. Tonight."

Two of the women nodded.

One said Opal's name like a warning.

Mrs. Ferris looked at the floor and said nothing.

Clay crossed the kitchen and stood with his back to the room.

"You don't believe me," Della said.

He turned around.

His eyes were not on his wife.

They were on the locket lying on Opal's chest.

"Where did you get that."

"Sarah gave it to me."

"Sarah never gave that away."

"She left it in the drawer after the surgery."

"I gave it to her," Clay said.

"December. A year before Cooper was born."

"There's a date on the back."

Opal turned the locket over.

The date was cut small in the gold, worn almost smooth.

Clay read it from across the room.

Della tried one more time.

"Anybody can buy a locket."

Clay did not answer her.

He walked out to the hall and stopped.

School pictures. Some of Dustin. One of Cooper at four.

A bare nail where something had hung.

"There used to be one of her right here."

Della's mouth opened and closed.

"There's not one picture of your wife left in this house," Opal said.

"Ask her why."

Silence.

Mrs. Ferris slid her car keys out of her coat pocket.

The other women went out without saying goodnight.

Snow blew in behind them and melted black on the floor.

Clay stood in the hall with his hands open.

"Opal."

"Open the fireproof box in the barn office," Opal said.

"Tonight. Now."

Clay went out through the mudroom.

The door shut behind him.

Della stood by the table and straightened a napkin.

Cooper did not let go of Opal's skirt.

Nobody spoke for a long time.

The clock over the stove hummed.

Then the mudroom door opened again.

Clay carried the box in and set it on the lace cloth.

It was gray and heavy, small, made to survive a fire.

The lid opened.

Rubber band. No papers.

The box was empty.