Page 35 of Love Conquers All

Graham read over Sylvie’s interview questions, making comments when he felt they were needed. But mostly, his thoughts were focused on that little attic room at the top of the inn. He didn’t want to distract Sylvie from her work. But it felt dishonest to hold anything back.

When Graham didn’t say anything for a little too long, Sylvie pressed him. “Are you okay? Is this too much?” She pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry. This is not your job. I’m using you.” She darkened her tablet and looked down at her hands.

“It isn’t that,” Graham hurried to say. How could he explain how much he loved helping her work? It felt like old times.

“It’s really okay,” Sylvie offered.

“No.” Graham took a breath.Here we go,he thought.

“Listen, I found something at the inn,” he said.

Sylvie’s eyes found his immediately. “Mold? Maybe we should just tear the whole thing down.”

“No. Not mold,” Graham said. “It’s a little room. An attic. I think your mother used it as an office or something.”

Sylvie’s eyes lit up. It took her a long time to answer. “I’ve never been in the attic.”

This didn’t surprise Graham. He guessed that Sylvie’s father had wanted to keep it as a sort of museum of Sarah’s life. He’d wanted to preserve it exactly how she’d left it.

Graham explained what he’d seen: journals, books, maybe more photo albums. Sylvie looked as though she were hovering above her chair.

“I don’t think I can think about the Alabama alligator farmer anymore,” she said with a small laugh.

“I know. I’m sorry to tell you like this,” Graham offered.

“No.” Sylvie touched his hand on the tabletop, and Graham felt a rush of feeling through his gut.

“I wouldn’t have wanted you to keep this to yourself,” Sylvie whispered. “This is everything to me.”

Graham had known it would be.

Chapter Sixteen

June 2002

It was that first night at the hostel in Boston that Sylvie let herself break down. She’d gotten a bed in an eighteen-bunk dorm that housed other very broke women, many of them traveling through Boston with backpacks, paying just three dollars to stay the night. After she put the sheets on her bed and pulled the pillowcase over her pillow, she sat at the edge and stared down at her feet. She felt far younger than seventeen. She felt alone and stupid and maybe seven years old.

“You good?” An older woman in her forties was looking at her from across the aisle. Already, she was dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a big T-shirt, and her hair was wet and clean from a recent shower.

Sylvie wasn’t sure what to say. She wondered what had happened in this woman’s life to bring her here. Had she lost someone? Had she lost her job? Was she sick in some way? Sylvie had been so sheltered, and now, she was throwing herself into the wide world to see what happened next.

Maybe this woman was trying to rob her. But Sylvie had all the cash she owned in a bag tied around her waist and tucked under her shirt. I hope I can sleep at night, she thought.

“I’m good,” Sylvie lied.

“You far away from home?” the woman asked. It seemed she wouldn’t take Sylvie’s lie.

“Not too far,” Sylvie said.

The woman took a beat. “Does your mother know you’re here?”

Sylvie’s mouth went dry. It was true that no matter where you were, people assumed you had a mother somewhere out there who was worried about you. Sylvie didn’t want to get into the whole of “my mom’s dead” stuff, so she shrugged.

“I’m sure she’s worried about you,” the woman said.

“I’m eighteen,” Sylvie lied.

“And I’m the queen of England.”

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