Chapter 2 - THE BLUE SUITCASE AND THE BRASS KEY
“Say it, Theo.”
Celeste Wynn stood beside my chair in a fitted red gown, one hand resting on the nine-year-old boy’s shoulder.
Theo stared at his untouched dinner.
“Call me Mom,” she repeated. “Your father and I are getting married. It’s time you stopped embarrassing me.”
Forty guests sat beneath the chandeliers in Julian Mercer’s Manhattan dining room.
Nobody spoke.
I had cared for Julian since he was eight years old, when his own mother died. Twenty-nine years later, I was raising his son through the same kind of grief.
Theo’s mother, Rachel, had been gone eighteen months.
He still carried the little wooden train she had painted for him. That night, he held it beneath the table, rubbing one blue wheel with his thumb.
“Miss Alma,” he whispered.
Celeste’s fingers tightened on his shoulder.
“Don’t look at the help when I’m speaking to you.”
I rose slowly.
“He will call you what he is ready to call you.”
Celeste turned toward me.
At sixty-one, I had learned that truly powerful people rarely needed to raise their voices.
Celeste raised hers anyway.
“You were paid to care for a child, Alma. You were not paid to interfere with my family.”
“Theo is grieving.”
“He is being indulged.”
Julian sat at the head of the table, his dark suit perfectly still against the high-backed chair. He had been listening without interrupting, but his eyes moved from Celeste’s hand to Theo’s white knuckles.
Celeste smiled at the guests.
“Alma has become confused about her position.”
Then she nodded to the household manager.
“Remove her chair.”
The chair beside Theo was pulled away while everyone watched.
It had been my place at family dinners since Julian bought the house.
Celeste faced me again.
“You’re fired. Security will escort you out after you apologize.”
Theo’s head snapped up.
“No.”
The word was barely audible.
Celeste leaned toward him. “What did you say?”
He slid off his chair and wrapped both arms around my waist.
“You can’t send her away.”
A few guests lowered their eyes.
Julian placed his fork beside his plate.
“Celeste,” he said calmly, “why does my son believe you can dismiss a member of my household without speaking to me?”
Her smile faltered.
“We discussed reducing staff.”
“We discussed hiring a second tutor.”
“You said Theo needed structure.”
“I did.” Julian looked at his son. “I did not say he needed another mother.”
Celeste released a sharp breath.
“Dr. Morris said this attachment was unhealthy.”
Across the table, Dr. Lena Morris slowly set down her glass.
She had been Theo’s grief counselor for nearly a year.
“No,” she said. “I said removing a trusted caregiver during a major family transition could be deeply destabilizing.”
The room went silent.
Celeste’s face changed.
Only for a second.
But Julian saw it.
“So you lied about his therapist,” he said. “What else did you lie about?”
“I am trying to prepare him for our marriage.”
“By forcing him to use his mother’s name for you?”
“He needs to accept reality.”
Theo pressed his face against my uniform.
Julian’s voice remained quiet.
“What happens if he refuses?”
Celeste glanced around the table, realizing too late that everyone was waiting for her answer.
“He won’t have this problem at Northbridge.”
Julian did not move.
“What is Northbridge?”
Celeste’s mouth opened, but no words came.
I felt Theo’s arms tighten.
Then he reached into his pocket and placed a small brass luggage key on the table.
“Dad,” he whispered, “why did Celeste pack my blue suitcase?”
Julian looked at the key.
Celeste stepped forward. “That is not what it looks like.”
“What does it look like?” he asked.
“A short trip. After the wedding.”
“With whom?”
She hesitated.
Theo answered for her.
“She said Northbridge has dormitories. She said Miss Alma would be gone, and you would be too busy with your new family to come get me.”
A chair scraped somewhere behind us.
Celeste reached for the key, but Julian covered it with his hand.
“You enrolled my son in a boarding school?”
“I was solving a problem.”
“My son is not a problem.”
At that moment, the dining-room doors opened.
Omar, the house manager, stood there holding Theo’s blue suitcase.
“Mr. Mercer,” he said carefully, “a driver arrived to take this to the airport.”
Julian’s gaze never left Celeste.
“When is the flight?”
Omar swallowed.
“Tonight, sir.”
Celeste went pale.
Julian rose, moved my chair back beside Theo’s, and looked toward security.
“Lock the dining-room doors.”
May you like
Then he placed the brass key in front of his fiancée.
“Nobody leaves until Celeste tells me who was waiting for my son at the airport.”
