“And you wrote on it.”
“Yes.”
I closed my eyes.
Claire still can’t know I’m back in Bellmere. Not yet.
“You realize that sounded like an affair written by somebody’s aunt.”
Evelyn actually laughed through tears.
“Yes.”
“I understand that now.”
I almost laughed too.
Then I remembered Adrian lying about the work trip.
Eleven months.
I stopped.
“What is on the tapes?”
Evelyn looked toward the second case.
“You should hear one.”
She opened it.
Inside were labeled digital drives and several original cassette tapes sealed in protective sleeves.
One label stopped me.
Claire — age 8 — first piano recital.
Another.
Christmas — Claire 11.
Then:
For Claire someday.
My mother’s handwriting.
My legs nearly gave out.
Evelyn placed a small digital player on the table.
“Adrian had this transferred professionally.”
I could not speak.
She pressed play.
Static.
Then a woman’s voice.
My mother.
I had not heard her voice in seventeen years.
