Page 57 of Love Conquers All

But if Graham wasn’t mistaken, he thought he caught a flicker of recognition behind Ralph’s eyes. He turned away, eager to move on. But one of the event planners was already approaching to tell them it was time to take their seats.

“I’ll see you at the podium,” Ralph said, waving them away.

Sylvie slipped her hand into Graham’s. They were led to a round table near the front, seated with several Washington, DC, politicians and other elite journalists. Glasses of champagne were poured. Graham bit his tongue to keep from telling Sylvie that Ralph Finster had looked at him so strangely. Maybe he was imagining things.

One of the elite journalists—a woman in her sixties—leaned across the table to ask Sylvie, “Are you nervous?”

“Of course, she’s not,” one of the politicians said stiffly. “She’s put herself in far more difficult situations than this. Today, it’s all about champagne and pretty dresses. Right, Sylvie?”

Sylvie smiled. “Just champagne and pretty dresses. That’s right.”

Graham’s heart was pumped with expectation.

He thought Sylvie’s mother had nothing to live for. Maybe that was why she got so depressed. She couldn’t find the beauty in the world any longer.

But Sylvie could never have that problem. She lived and breathed the world’s beauty.

He reached under the table to squeeze her hand. It was going to be okay.

It had to be.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The host for the twentieth annual night thrown by the Journalistic Integrity Agency was a woman in her twenties who introduced herself as “a journalist in the making, someone who’s paying attention to what’s already been said and eager to join the conversation to build a brighter world.” Sylvie watched as the host gripped both sides of the podium with white hands, clearly nervous and shaking. But her voice was strong and clear.

“The journalists we’re here to honor tonight are my heroes,” she said. “And I’d like to personally thank people like Ralph Finster for making this night possible. Without his devotion to the environment, we wouldn’t be where we are today, making technological advancements that will surely build a better world.”

There was applause. Sylvie found with surprise that she was clapping, too. Graham joined in. There was anger in his eyes. Sylvie understood, but she wanted to lean over and remind him of their goals and what they were there to do. It couldn’t come out just yet.

The woman at the podium introduced another member of “the board,” who Sylvie knew now, was another member ofthe Next Generation Nantucket Designers and, therefore, one of their enemies. He was terribly proud of himself, puffing up his chest as he spoke about the other journalists who’d won the award in the past and what they’d gone on to do with the money. Some of those journalists were seated at this very table, gazing up at him with pride in their eyes.

Sylvie knew that exposing these men for the frauds they were was essential. But she also knew it wouldn’t be taken lightly, least of all by the journalists they’d honored in the past. Nobody wanted to be wrong. Nobody wanted to be called a fool.

Nervous, Sylvie reached for her phone to check the time. It was then she realized that Timothy Everett had responded to her email. Her heart thumped.

She couldn’t stop herself from opening it.

Dear Sylvie,

I have thought of you a great deal since your father’s death. I saw you briefly at the funeral, but I wanted to keep my distance. I wanted to give you time and space to grieve however you saw fit. I know this is all incredibly imperfect. Please forgive me if I wasn’t there for you enough.

I want to be delicate as I answer your question.

Your father was open with me about the events that led up to his marriage to your mother. He told me about his first marriage, about how he’d never loved his first wife. He was guilty of putting his first wife through hell. I believe he said that his first wife accused him of loving Sarah far more than he could ever love her. I believe he said, “She saw right through me. Maybe all women do.”

He told me about Wally, his best friend and your mother’s greatest love.

He was jealous of Wally. But Wally was the best friend he ever had in his life. Wally always came first.

I think their shared love and grief over losing Wally brought your mother and father together. It was imperfect and messy. Very suddenly, they were pregnant and moving to Nantucket Island. It was a hurricane of changes that ended with a baby.

But a baby is the beginning of something, not the ending. I think your father saw that, and your mother struggled, too.

Your father knew your mother was depressed. He knew that when she was unkind, it came from a place of incredible torment and hardship. He also knew that he should have gotten her help before it was too late.

You got older, and your mother fell deeper and deeper into the well of her own sorrow.

She loved you. She did. But she didn’t know how to love herself.

---