Chapter 7 - Paper Behind the Frame
My arms had gone past burning into something dull and far away. I could feel my fingers slipping a quarter inch at a time on the curtain, and every time I tried to tighten them again my shoulders shook.
Mrs. Albright hadn't let go. She was still kneeling below me, both hands wrapped in the heavy off-white fabric, her knuckles white. She breathed loud through her nose, steadying herself, and she didn't look at me. She looked only at Daniel.
"The copy," she said. "It's still in this room."
No one moved. The daylight from the tall window was hot on the side of my face. Behind the sheer, I could hear a lawn mower far down the hill.
Daniel blinked. The scissors hung at his side now, black handles catching light. He wasn't touching the curtain with them anymore, but he hadn't put them down either. "What are you talking about?"
Mrs. Albright swallowed. "Your father didn't trust the safe. He said she'd find it. He had me tape it."
" Tape what where?" Daniel's voice cracked.
"An envelope. Behind the frame." She tipped her chin, just a little, toward the wall behind him without letting go. "The painting with the boats. He made me do it myself."
I followed her eyes. The framed art on the cream wall — the wide gilt frame with the dark harbor scene I'd walked past a hundred times and never really seen. It hung crooked now from where the house had vibrated when I'd climbed up.
Daniel turned his head halfway.
"No," his mother said.
It was the first time she'd moved from her spot. She took two steps sideways, her light pants brushing the baseboard, and planted herself between Daniel and that wall. Her pearl necklace rose and fell with her breath. Her green blouse had a damp spot under the arm from the heat of the room.
"You are not touching that wall," she said to Mrs. Albright. "You've done enough lying for one day."
"I'm not lying, Vivian," Mrs. Albright said.
I tried to shift my weight. My right foot was numb on the windowsill wood, and the edge bit into my arch. The curtain pulled taut under me, my whole weight and the housekeeper's counterweight holding it in place. If either of us let go, I knew I would go backward.
"Daniel," I whispered. I hadn't meant to say it out loud. My throat was dry.
He looked up at me, then back at his mother standing in front of the painting, then down at Mrs. Albright on her knees.
"Stop," he said. "Nobody moves."
His mother stared at him. "Daniel."
"I said don't move." He said it louder this time, and his hand tightened around the scissors. He didn't lift them, but the sound of his belt creaking as he shifted made me flinch. "Mom, step away from the wall. Just — step to the side where I can see you."
"You're taking her word over mine?" she said. Her voice stayed cold, but her mouth trembled at the corner. "After everything I've done to keep this house together?"
"I'm not taking anybody's word," Daniel said. "I'm looking. That's all."
Mrs. Albright let out a breath. "It's taped to the back, lower right corner. Brown envelope. His name on it in his hand."
"Don't listen to her," his mother said quickly. "She'll say anything. She wants that child to —"
"Enough!" Daniel cut in. He glanced at me again, at my hands high on the fabric. "Can you hold on?"
I nodded because I couldn't get a full sentence out. Sweat ran down the back of my neck into the collar of my purple dress. The baby pressed low and hard, and I tried to breathe through it without moving my hips.
Daniel pointed with the tip of the scissors, not at anyone, just to mark the space. "You" — to his mother — "stay right there, but two steps left. Mrs. Albright, you do not let go of that curtain. Do you understand me?"
"I won't let go," she said.
His mother didn't move at first. Then, slowly, she slid one foot, then the other, to the left, her back still half to the painting like she could shield it with her shoulder. The gilt frame glinted in the daylight.
May you like
"Good," Daniel said. His breathing was shallow. "Nobody touches anything until I say. Nobody leaves this room."
The curtain creaked on its rod above my head, and I gripped harder, feeling the weave bite into my palms. We all knew where it was now. All four of us staring at the same painting while I hung between the window and the floor.
