“Did she visit after the accident?”
“Once.”
“What
happened?”
“Nothing.”
It was the same answer my father had given.
Nothing happened.
The phrase people used when something had happened but they had agreed not to speak of it.
Vivian walked to the door.
“Get some sleep.”
“Did you choose me?”
She stopped.
“For the marriage.”
“I approved the arrangement.”
“Why?”
“Your family met the necessary conditions.”
“What conditions?”
Vivian’s hand rested on the doorknob.
“You were unmarried. You had no criminal history. You were not connected to the press or any competing business interests.”
“That describes thousands of people.”
“Yes.”
“So why me?”
Her eyes held mine.
“Because Ethan had seen you before.”
The room seemed to tilt.
“What?”
“Three years ago, the Thornton Foundation funded a community health center in Queens. You volunteered there.”
I remembered the center.
My mother had received treatment there during the first months of her illness. I helped at the reception desk
