Four.
The key.
Grand Central.
Locker 314.
I slipped the brass key into
my pocket.
Vivian noticed.
So did Jason.
Neither said a word.
The neurologist ushered us into the corridor. Once the door closed, Jason turned to me.
“You cannot go rushing into Grand Central with a mysterious key based on fragments from Ethan’s damaged memory.”
“Why not?”
“Because if someone concealed evidence there, they may still be watching it.”
“Then we involve the police.”
“And tell them what?” Jason asked. “That your husband woke from a coma and wrote the name of a train station?”
“He also said the crash was intended for Clara,” Vivian replied.
Jason looked at her.
“You believe that?”
“I believe Ethan.”
“That has always been your weakness.”
The words landed harder than he appeared to intend.
Vivian’s face became still.
“My weakness?”
“You have spent your life assuming Ethan is the only person in this family capable of doing the right thing.”
