Chapter 3 - The Pearl Locket
Ethan’s wedding stopped.
Not officially.
The officiant simply stepped away while two hundred guests tried not to stare.
Lauren stood beside me, suddenly forgotten in her own white gown.
Richard asked to see the locket.
I didn’t hand it over.
“Tell me why.”
He swallowed.
“My sister’s name was Caroline Whitmore.”
“Was?”
“She died thirty-six years ago.”
I was fifty-five.
The dates meant nothing to me.
At least, not yet.
Richard continued.
“Caroline wore a locket exactly like that every day.”
“Lots of necklaces look alike.”
“Not this one.”
He pointed toward the clasp.
“There should be a tiny W engraved underneath.”
My fingers suddenly felt numb.
I turned it over.
There it was.
W.
I had never noticed.
Lauren stepped closer.
“Mom?”
“I don’t know.”
That was the truth.
My mother, Evelyn Hayes, had told me the necklace came from her own mother.
She had died twelve years earlier.
There was nobody left to ask.
Or so I thought.
Richard wanted to continue talking.
Ethan refused.
“This is my wedding.”
Everyone looked at him.
He took Lauren’s hand.
“What happened today matters. But so does why we’re here.”
Then he looked at me.
“Mrs. Hayes, will you sit in the front?”
Lauren’s entire body stiffened.
I saw it.
So did Ethan.
I almost refused.
Then Diane quietly said:
“Please.”
I moved toward the front pew.
Lauren stared straight ahead during the remainder of the ceremony.
She smiled for photographs.
She said her vows.
But when Ethan said, “I do,” her eyes weren’t on him.
They were on me.
Afterward, the reception began at Whitmore Hall, an enormous historic property outside Richmond.
I intended to leave.
Lauren stopped me near the parking lot.
“Mom.”
I turned.
For the first time that day, we were alone.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“About Emily?”
“Yes.”
“Why would I?”
“You donated enough money to save someone’s life!”
“I helped with a medical bill.”
“You never said anything.”
“It wasn’t something I did for applause.”
Her expression twisted.
“That’s easy for you to say now.”
I stared at her.
“Lauren, you asked me not to attend your wedding because you thought I would embarrass you.”
She looked away.
“Ethan’s family is different.”
“Different from what?”
She said nothing.
“From me?”
Still nothing.
Then I noticed her handbag was open.
Inside was a photograph.
Old.
Creased.
I could see my own face.
I pulled it out.
Lauren grabbed for it.
“Mom, don’t.”
Too late.
The photograph showed me at twenty-three.
Beside my late husband, Thomas.
And standing behind us—
Richard Whitmore.
I looked at Lauren.
“Where did you get this?”
Her face drained of color.
Then a man behind me answered.
“I gave it to her.”
Richard.
He had followed us outside.
I turned.
“You knew my husband?”
Richard looked toward Lauren.
Then back at me.
“Yes.”
“How?”
He hesitated.
“Thomas worked for my father.”
I felt a chill.
“My husband was an accountant.”
“That’s what he told you.”
“What are you saying?”
May you like
Richard took a breath.
“Thomas Hayes was the reason my father nearly went to prison.”
