a calm, reassuring smile. But Lachlan can tell something is wrong. When he looks at the expression on my face the muscles in his jaw tighten, almost imperceptibly, into a mask of alarm.
Vanessa doesn’t seem to notice. “There you are! Michael was just telling me about his novel, I’m dying to read it. Maybe I can get a sneak peek?” She dimples at Lachlan and when he fails to respond immediately, she quickly recalibrates and turns her gaze on me. She frowns. “Wait, Ashley, is everything OK?”
The smell of the salmon fills my nose and makes me want to gag. The candles on the table sputter with the draft that I brought in with me. I study Vanessa, wondering if she knows about the letter, feeling exposed and tender. Vanessa looks back at me wide-eyed, as groomed and guileless as a pedigreed house pet. And then I remember: I’m Ashley. Even if Vanessa had come across the letter in her father’s records, there would be no reason for her to connect the “Lily” in the signature with the woman who stands before her. I wrap myself in Ashley’s protective quilting. I quiver bravely and I improvise.
“It’s my mom,” I say. “She’s been hospitalized. I have to go home.”
* * *
—
Lachlan is furious. He paces the perimeter of the living room, the veins popping in his neck, hands raking his curls into a tangle of static frizz. “Christ, Nina—empty? Where the fuck is everything, then?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “Hidden somewhere else, in all likelihood. A different safe. Or a safety-deposit box. Or a bank.”
“Fuck me. You were so sure.”
“Excuse me, but it’s been twelve years. Things change. We knew it was a long shot.”
“You never said it was a long shot. You said it was a sure thing. Our big play.”
I want to throw a chair at him. “At least the code still worked so that I was able to get in to the safe and see.”
He flings himself down on the couch, looking grim. “So now what?”
“Well, it’s not like this place is lacking in valuables. There are pieces in that house that are worth hundreds of thousands of dollars. That grandfather clock. I’ll come back and do an inventory, come up with some options. We won’t leave empty-handed.”
He draws his face into a pucker of distaste. “It’s just so much more of a hassle. Finding a way to get it all out of here. Finding another fucking fence to sell it. We only get a fraction of its value once they take their cut. This was supposed to be the big easy score, and now once again we’re talking small potatoes.” He glares at me. “And what the hell is all this about going to visit your mom?”
“It helped with the story, it made the phone call more plausible.” I can tell that he doesn’t believe me, but there is no way I’m telling him about the letter. Besides, what bearing does it have on what we’re doing here? None. Though I feel like something has shifted; as if the pool of moral certainty in which I’ve been swimming for all these years has suddenly drained and I’m looking around at my barren surroundings, wondering where the hell I really am.
I sit down next to him and put a hand on his leg. He ignores it. “Look, I am worried about my mom. We agreed that I’d be able to go home and check on her. That’s why we stayed in California, remember?” He’s still silent. “I’ll only be gone a few days.”
“Vanessa will expect me to leave with you. I’m your fiancé now, remember?”
“No, you stay here and work on a plan B. I’m sure you can muster up a convincing reason why you have to stay behind. Tell her I didn’t want you to interrupt your writing. Tell her my mom isn’t that sick, after all.”
Outside, the snow keeps falling, carpeting the cottage in silence. The ancient thermostat ticks and ticks and then catches, blasting us with a current of scorched heat. Lachlan scowls and tugs his sweater over his head.
“Christ,