Page 40 of Love Conquers All

Downstairs, she found that Graham had dressed in a black button-down and a pair of black jeans. He looked sleek and cool and mysterious. A shiver ran down her spine. The server led them to a back corner table with a flickering candle and told them their specials. When they sat down, Graham put his hands on the table and said, “I lied to you.”

Sylvie felt a shot of adrenaline. “I’m sorry?”

She couldn’t fathom what he’d lied to her about. His wife? His past? Maybe he’d never loved Sylvie at all. Maybe he’d wanted her to stay gone from his life.

Maybes rolled through her until he spoke again.

“About the vegetarian thing,” he said.

Sylvie’s anxiety dissipated. “What do you mean?” She laughed.

“I ate a ham sandwich in jail last week. I was hungry and feeling so bad for myself, and I broke my moral code,” Graham said. “I feel so ashamed.”

Sylvie didn’t know what to say. She was touched by how gentle and sorrowful Graham was about something so small. She said, “You don’t need to worry about that, Graham. You were hungry. You’ve been fighting for so long.”

Graham bent his head. The server came to take their order, and Sylvie ordered a full bottle of wine, not wanting to mess around.

“Are we in confession time now?” she asked.

“Not till the wine gets here,” Graham said, his eyes electric.

Sylvie grinned and put her chin on her fist. Another text dinged into her phone.

ROSE: Have you kissed yet

Sylvie made sure to hide her phone so that Graham couldn’t see.

They got through the first glass of wine without any real confessions. They laughed, exchanging stories from the past, reminding one another of various “mini disasters” that had occurred at one protest or another. Graham talked about the numerous trips he’d taken around the world, traveling by freight from one protest to another. Apparently, he’d been gone from Chicago for many months at a time, a fact he now regretted.

Sylvie told him not to regret anything. He’d been fighting.

Midway through their second glass of wine, Sylvie heard herself make the heaviest confession she could think of. It was one she hadn’t told anyone.

“I don’t know how my mother died.”

The words echoed. Graham’s face transformed.

“Oh,” he said finally. “That’s why you don’t want to read the diaries.”

Sylvie raised her shoulders. “I’m terrified.”

Sylvie went on to explain that she’d tried to learn how her mother had died. She’d made phone calls and dug around. But it seemed that someone—probably her father—hadn’t wanted anyone to know the truth. It had left Sylvie in the dark for a long time.

“People in Nantucket must know,” Graham said softly. “Gossip like that doesn’t remain in a vacuum.”

Sylvie was struck with the realization that maybe everyone she’d talked to the past week knew secrets about her family’s past that she didn’t. She filled her mouth with wine.

“Should we ask my mother first?” Graham asked.

“I don’t know.” Sylvie groaned.

“Let’s order food,” Graham hurried to say, waving for the server.

But it was too late. Sylvie was emotionally downtrodden and exhausted. They ate slowly, both heavy with thoughts, and didn’t bother to finish the bottle of wine.

A part of Sylvie was relieved that Graham knew. But another part of her felt that him knowing gave the journals even more power.

“I can’t believe my father would do this to me,” Sylvie whispered. “I can’t help but think he knew about the journals and put me in charge of the inn so I’d read them.”

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