Chapter 11 - Richmond Appearances
Three days later Celeste attended a luncheon for the Richmond Preservation Society.
Graham encouraged her to go.
That made her suspicious.
“You don’t mind?”
“Why would I?”
“You’ve barely wanted me out of your sight.”
“That’s not true.”
It was.
He wanted to know whom she met when she thought no one was watching.
Rebecca arranged for a licensed investigator, not Graham, to document Celeste’s movements.
Nothing illegal.
Nothing theatrical.
No microphones in private rooms.
Just observation in public.
Celeste entered the Jefferson Hotel at eleven thirty.
She smiled for photographs.
Kissed cheeks.
Donated ten thousand dollars to a restoration fund.
Spoke publicly about “protecting the inheritance we leave future generations.”
When Rebecca sent Graham the quote, he nearly laughed.
After lunch, Celeste did not return home.
She crossed the lobby and met a man near the bar.
Adrian Cole.
The investigator photographed them from a lawful distance.
No hand-holding.
No affair.
This was business.
Their body language was tense.
Adrian slid a folder across the table.
Celeste refused it.
He pushed it back.
She leaned forward.
Whatever she said made him smile.
Twenty minutes later they left separately.
That evening Graham attended a small foundation reception with Celeste.
He watched her work the room.
She was extraordinary at it.
She remembered spouses’ names.
Children’s colleges.
Recent surgeries.
She knew when to touch an elbow and when not to.
People felt visible around her.
Graham had once fallen in love with that quality.
Now he saw the machinery inside it.
A woman named Sylvia Warren approached.
“Graham, how is your mother?”
“Improving.”
Sylvia looked surprised.
“That’s wonderful.”
“Why surprised?”
“Oh—Celeste said they might move her.”
Celeste, across the room, turned her head.
Graham pretended not to notice.
“Move her where?”
“A long-term facility. I thought it sounded premature, but Celeste said Ruth needed secure memory care.”
Graham’s stomach tightened.
“When did she tell you this?”
“Maybe three weeks ago.”
Before Ruth had supposedly spoken again.
Before Graham came home.
Before any independent evaluation.
Celeste approached smoothly.
“Sylvia, are you telling Graham about Brookhaven?”
Sylvia smiled.
“Yes.”
Celeste linked her arm through Graham’s.
“We looked at options. That’s all.”
“You looked at memory-care facilities?”
“For the future.”
“My mother doesn’t have dementia.”
“We didn’t know that then.”
Graham stared at her.
“We had no diagnosis.”
Celeste laughed lightly.
“Graham, don’t make this dramatic in public.”
The sentence sounded harmless.
But it was a warning.
Public appearances were her strongest territory.
He smiled.
“You’re right.”
Celeste relaxed.
On the drive home she held his hand.
He let her.
At a traffic light, she asked, “Are we okay?”
Graham looked out at Monument Avenue.
“I don’t know.”
Her fingers tightened.
“I miss my husband.”
“I’m right here.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You’re investigating me.”
He turned.
“Should I stop?”
She did not answer.
When they reached home, Ruth was awake in the library.
Celeste kissed her forehead.
“How are you feeling, Ruth?”
Ruth smiled.
“Alert.”
Celeste’s hand froze against the wheelchair.
Only Ruth and Graham noticed.
Later, Ruth said, “She is afraid of that word.”
“Alert?”
May you like
“People like Celeste need everyone else to be less awake than they are.”
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