Chapter 12 - What Celeste Was Really ProtectingI had always believed Celeste hated me because I wasn't wealthy.
It was the easiest explanation.
I ran a custom metal fabrication business.
My hands were scarred from years of work.
The tattoos on my neck and fingers had been there long before I met Hannah.
At Whitcomb dinners, I was usually the only person who knew how to repair something without calling a contractor.
Celeste treated that like a character defect.
She corrected my pronunciation.
Criticized my clothes.
Once asked Hannah whether she'd married me to upset her father.
But Leah believed the hostility went deeper.
"Look at the trust provisions," she said.
I sat across from her as she reviewed Vivian's estate documents.
The language was dense.
Still, one point became unmistakable.
Vivian had arranged the family interests so her daughters' branches would receive separate protections.
Hannah's death hadn't transferred her entire position to Celeste.
Rosie had succeeded to the applicable beneficial interest.
"Celeste expected to control everything eventually," Leah said.
"Because Hannah died?"
"Perhaps. But the documents don't support that expectation."
I stared at the page.
"She knew Rosie would inherit."
"She should have known. Whether she understood or accepted it is another matter."
I thought about Celeste's expression whenever Rosie entered a room.
The way she called her that child instead of using her name.
The way she insisted that Oliver, her own son, represented the family's future.
She had turned her sister's little girl into a rival.
And Rosie had no idea there was a competition.
"Does Celeste benefit from the restructuring?"
"Yes. She has her own financial interests and obligations connected to the family entities."
"What about Malcolm?"
"His personal guarantee is a significant concern."
I rubbed my forehead.
"So he's the one who needs the deal most."
"We need to establish the exact terms before saying that."
I almost laughed.
Leah's refusal to leap to conclusions was becoming the one thing I trusted completely.
Later that afternoon, June came to the workshop.
She looked uncomfortable.
"I need to apologize about the message."
I set down the piece of metal I was polishing.
"What message?"
"The one about the guarantee."
I stared at her.
"You sent that?"
"Yes."
"Why anonymously?"
She twisted her hands.
"Because I knew things I wasn't supposed to know. I didn't want anyone saying I'd stolen financial papers."
I stepped closer.
"Did you?"
"No. I only overheard conversations while serving meals. I never had access to the contracts."
"Then why not just tell me?"
"Because you were so angry after the gala."
I looked away.
She wasn't wrong.
"I was afraid you'd go straight to Malcolm," she continued.
"And you thought I'd listen if the information came from someone else."
June nodded.
"Your wife used to tell me you were a good man with a short fuse."
I smiled sadly.
"She was right."
"She also said you'd do anything for Rosie."
My throat tightened.
I looked at the photograph of Hannah standing beside the old family portrait.
For months after her death, I'd thought my greatest responsibility was keeping Rosie away from sadness.
So I kept her routines predictable.
Avoided difficult subjects.
Let the Whitcombs maintain contact because I thought having grandparents, an aunt, and a cousin would compensate for the mother she'd lost.
I had never considered that some forms of contact could deepen the wound.
"June," I said, "why did Celeste hate Hannah so much?"
June looked down.
"Because Hannah would challenge her father."
"That doesn't explain it."
"Hannah was the younger sister. But Mrs. Vivian trusted her judgment."
I waited.
"Celeste believed everything in that house should belong to the people who obeyed its rules."
"And Hannah didn't."
"No."
June gave a sad smile.
"Your wife once told Mrs. Vivian that a family shouldn't have to earn the right to be treated like family."
I closed my eyes.
That sounded exactly like Hannah.
"And Celeste?"
"She told her mother that Hannah only said things like that because she'd never had to prove herself."
There it was.
Years of resentment.
An inheritance Celeste believed she deserved more.
A father who rewarded loyalty.
And a little girl who stood in the way of a future Celeste had already imagined.
That night, Rosie refused to wear her rainbow dress when I showed it to her.
I hadn't meant to upset her.
I'd simply asked whether she wanted it hung in her closet.
She backed away.
"No."
I lowered it immediately.
"Okay."
She looked frightened.
"Don't make me wear it."
"I won't."
She stared at the dress for several seconds.
Then whispered, "It makes Aunt Celeste mad."
I crouched beside her.
"Rosie, your clothes don't make people hurt you. What happened was Aunt Celeste's choice."
She considered that carefully.
Then reached for my hand.
"Can Mommy's dress be happy again?"
I didn't have an easy answer.
May you like
But I knew one thing.
I wasn't going to let Celeste decide what my daughter could love.
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