Page 56 of Letters From Victor

“Mother,” I said slowly, choosing my words with the same caution she had employed earlier. “I appreciate your concern. Truly. But this is something Frank and I need to work out on our own.”

Agatha studied her manicured fingernails, then me, then the pictures on the walls. “I do hope you will work it out,” she said, her tone softer but no less piercing. “But tell me, how can you, when you’re spending so much time…elsewhere?”

My breath caught in my chest. I sat up straighter. “Say what you mean, Mother.”

Mother picked up a studio portrait of Frankie from the side table, running her fingers along the embellished silver frame, then set it back down.

“Where is your son?”

“Yourgrandson? He’s asleep in his room. And you’re deflecting.”

She pursed her lips for a moment before speaking again. “You were twelve when your father campaigned for state senate. You remember that, don’t you?” she asked, looking at the photo of Frankie, not at me.

The change in subject threw me off balance. “Of course I remember.”

“He spent nearly every weekend away, traveling the district, as politicians do.” She turned to look at me, hands clasped primly in her lap. “It was a difficult time for our family.”

I shifted uneasily in Frank’s chair. “What are you saying?”

“By then, his campaign was already behind him. He’d bowed out of the race, if you recall.” She shot me a pointed glance. “But he continued to stay out on the road.”

Realization sunk in like a cold stone going straight to the bottom of a pond. I gripped the chair’s arms tighter, my knuckles blanching.

“He was having an affair?” I asked, though I already knew the answer.

Agatha shrugged one shoulder, the movement almost nonchalant. “It wasn’t the first and certainly not the last. Why do you think he’s still in Hawaii?”

“He’s there with the statehood commission,” I answered dutifully, though the words felt flimsy as straw.

“He could have come back a dozen times over, but he hasn’t.” She gave me a long, assessing look. “Men have their weaknesses. The important thing is he always comes back to us in the end. He fulfills his responsibilities and keeps up appearances.”

“Why are you telling me this?” My voice was low and tight.

She shot me a sharp, knowing glare. “Men have their indulgences, Barbara. But women don’t get that luxury.”

I shot up from the chair, unable to sit still any longer under her scrutiny. “Times have changed, Mother. You act like we’re still in corsets.”

“Not where it matters.” Mother’s eyes bore into mine, unflinching. “You’re treading on dangerous ground, Barbara. One wrong step, and everything your father and I built—everything—comes crumbling down. You aren’t some nobody from a no-name family. What you do reflects on all of us. And forwhat?” Her voice dropped to a searing whisper. “A tumble in the sheets with your employer?”

My blood turned cold. “Get out.”

Agatha rose with the measured grace of a ballerina, plucking her coat from where I’d draped it over the back of the sofa. She made no move to put it on, instead letting it dangle from her fingers as she made her way toward the door.

“Struck a nerve, did I?” she asked.

I opened the front door, letting the cool spring air rush in. “Thank you for your visit, Mother. Now, please leave.”

She stepped onto the threshold and turned back, her posture as erect as a flagpole. “The family always comes first, Barbara,” she said. “Never forget that.”

I shut the door before she could say another word.

The silence of the house closed in around me like a heavy quilt. Outside, I heard the rhythmic click-clack of her heels on the walkway, then the soft, muted slam of a car door. The low growl of the engine roared to life before fading into the distance.

What I wouldn’t give to be in Victor’s arms.

This enforced separation was going to be hell.

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