In March, the Hudson began to thaw.
The ice broke apart with groans and cracks that sounded like cannon fire echoing through the valley. The mud that had once symbolized Eleanor’s humiliation gave way to rich, dark earth, smelling of new grass and early rain.
Daniel sat in the visitor’s room of the Westchester County Correctional Facility.
He hadn’t wanted to come. Arthur had told him he owed her nothing. Eleanor had simply kissed his forehead and said, *”Do what gives you peace, Danny.”*
The heavy steel door buzzed.
Claire entered, escorted by an armed female guard.
She wore an oversized orange jumpsuit. Her long, lustrous chestnut hair had been cut into a blunt, uneven bob. Without her makeup, her expensive skincare routines, and her diamond earrings, she looked shockingly ordinary. Her skin was sallow; her hazel eyes were ringed with dark circles of sleepless fury.
She sat down across the stainless steel table, the guard stepping back against the wall.
“Did you come to gloat?” Claire asked, her voice harsh and raspy. She didn’t look at his eyes; she looked at his hands, which were resting calmly on the metal table.
“No,” Daniel said.
“My lawyer says I’m getting three years,” she spat, her fingers twitching against the orange fabric of her pants. “Three years at Danbury. Because of your pathetic, ignorant family. Do you have any idea what my life is now? My father is facing twelve years in federal penitentiary. My mother is living in an extended-stay motel in New Jersey on an allowance from my uncle. We have *nothing*.”
Daniel looked at her. He waited for the anger. He waited for the burning urge to demand answers, to ask her why she had smiled at him while planning to destroy his parents’ lives.
Nothing came.
There was only a vast, clean emptiness. Looking at Claire was like looking at a stranger whose face he vaguely remembered from a train station years ago.
“You had everything, Claire,” Daniel said quietly. “You had a man who would have laid down in traffic for you. You had parents who were healthy. You had an education. You had talent. But you were so terrified of being ordinary that you sold your soul for a state contract.”
“Ordinary?” Claire laughed, a sharp, bitter bark. “You think I was going to live like your parents? Clipping coupons? Eating pot roast on Sunday? Washing the same car in the driveway for twenty years? That isn’t living, Daniel! That’s dying slowly in the dark!”
Daniel stood up.
He smoothed the front of his woolen sweater. He looked down at the woman who had almost been his wife.
“My parents have loved each other for thirty-two years,” Daniel said, his voice clear, calm, and utterly devoid of pity. “When my mother was freezing in that swamp, she didn’t walk six miles to save her money. She walked to save my soul. You could live ten lifetimes in that prison, Claire, and you will never understand what that kind of wealth feels like.”
Daniel turned toward the door.
“Daniel!” she cried out, her voice suddenly cracking into that familiar, manipulative desperation. She lunged forward against the table, the guard instantly stepping in, a hand falling onto her shoulder. “Daniel, don’t walk away! You still love me! You can’t just erase three years! Tell the judge about the coercion! Tell them my father forced me! Daniel!”
Daniel knocked twice on the heavy steel door.
The latch clicked.