Chapter 24
Lucy asked Celeste the hardest question when she was twenty-two.
They had developed a relationship by then.
Small.
Irregular.
Lunch twice a year.
Birthday texts.
One Christmas card.
No automatic family access.
Celeste never returned to the Corsini estate.
Raffaele never asked her to.
One relationship did not restore another.
Lucy and Celeste met at a restaurant in Manhattan.
Lucy asked:
“If Marcus hadn’t done any of it, would you still have married Daddy?”
Celeste stopped.
She had expected Anna.
Suitcase.
Canada.
Not this.
“I don’t know.”
Lucy frowned.
“Why?”
“Because the version of me who married your father already included what I had hidden.”
Good answer.
Uncomfortable.
Lucy continued.
“Did you love him before Mommy died?”
“No.”
Immediate.
That mattered.
“Sure?”
“Yes.”
“I knew him.”
Another pause.
“I liked him.”
“Mommy knew?”
“I think so.”
Lucy looked suspicious.
Celeste understood.
“No affair.”
“Good.”
Then:
“Did marrying him make you feel like you replaced Mommy?”
Celeste looked down.
“Sometimes.”
Lucy’s expression changed.
Celeste continued before shame made her clean it up.
“That feeling was part of why I should have been more careful.”
“Careful how?”
“You had already lost your mother.”
Another pause.
“I wanted to become important to you quickly.”
Lucy remembered.
Bedtime.
Hair.
Strawberries.
Nine months.
Then suitcase.
“Was that fake?”
“No.”
Celeste’s eyes filled.
“It was one of the most real parts.”
Lucy stared.
“Then why take me?”
The question had changed over nineteen years.
Not about the lid now.
About love.
Celeste answered:
“Because when I panicked, I treated getting you away as more important than what you were experiencing.”
Another pause.
“I thought if my intention was protection, I could decide for you.”
Lucy became quiet.
That sounded familiar.
Not only Celeste.
Raffaele.
Family.
Authority.
People who believed loving someone made their judgment heavier.
Lucy asked:
“Daddy does that too.”
Celeste almost smiled.
“Yes.”
“He better.”
“Yes.”
“Still.”
“Yes.”
Both.
Lucy laughed once.
Then:
“Do you want Dad forgive you?”
Celeste thought.
“Part of me does.”
“Do you expect?”
“No.”
“Do you love him?”
Another hard question.
“I love parts of who he was with me.”
Different.
Lucy accepted that.
The marriage had ended.
Love had not needed to become fake for divorce to remain right.
Before leaving, Celeste said:
“I’m glad you know me.”
Lucy looked at her.
“I’m still deciding what that means.”
Celeste nodded.
“Okay.”
May you like
That was why the relationship had survived at all.
Celeste had finally learned not to turn an opening into a claim.
