Chapter 4 - My Mother Said Claire Was Lying
I drove to Lake Forest that evening.
Margaret Whitmore was seventy now.
Still elegant.
Still capable of making a sentence sound like an instruction even when phrased as concern.
She looked at me over dinner.
“You missed the foundation committee meeting.”
“I found Claire.”
Her fork stopped.
Only for an instant.
But I saw it.
“At the gala?”
“You knew?”
“Someone sent me a photograph.”
Of course.
Whitmore family gossip traveled faster than federal subpoenas.
“She has three boys.”
Margaret took a sip of wine.
“I heard.”
“They’re mine.”
She set the glass down.
“No.”
I stared at her.
“She told me.”
“Claire told you many things during the divorce.”
“What does that mean?”
“She was emotional.”
There it was.
A word powerful families use when they need feelings to disqualify facts.
“Did Claire contact my office after the divorce?”
Margaret's face changed.
Not enough.
Enough.
“Why are you asking me?”
“Did she?”
“I don't remember every call your ex-wife made nine years ago.”
“Did William Sloane send her a letter?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“I believe counsel responded to inappropriate contact.”
My entire body went cold.
“You knew.”
“I knew Claire claimed she was pregnant.”
Claimed.
The word landed like something physical.
“Did you know she actually was?”
“At first? No.”
“When did you know?”
Margaret stood.
“This conversation is pointless.”
I stood too.
“When?”
“Ethan.”
“Answer me.”
Her expression hardened.
“Several months later.”
“How?”
“An investigator.”
I stared.
“You had Claire followed?”
“We had concerns.”
“About what?”
“Whether she intended to use a pregnancy to reopen the divorce.”
“She was carrying my children.”
“We did not know that.”
“You found out.”
Margaret said nothing.
“When?”
Her silence answered enough.
“Before they were born?”
“Yes.”
I stepped away from the table.
The room felt suddenly too elegant to breathe in.
“And you didn't tell me.”
“You were taking over Whitmore Industries.”
I turned.
“What?”
“Your father had just had his first cardiac episode. The Benton acquisition was unstable. Lenders were nervous. Claire had already left.”
“She was pregnant.”
“She had chosen divorce.”
“No.”
My voice rose.
“You threw her belongings out of our home.”
“She signed the papers.”
“Because I didn't stop you.”
That was mine.
I would not give Margaret that part too.
Then I asked:
“Did you know they were triplets?”
Her eyes moved away.
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
“Unbelievable.”
“Ethan, listen to me.”
“No.”
“She had refused every financial offer. She wanted separation.”
“She wanted me to protect her.”
“She wanted you to choose her over your family.”
“Yes.”
The answer surprised both of us.
“Yes, Mom. She did.”
I picked up my coat.
Margaret said:
“Those children do not know you.”
I stopped.
That was true.
“Do not walk into their lives out of guilt.”
Also true.
I hated that she could still say true things while standing inside a lie.
Then she added:
“And before you decide I stole fatherhood from you, ask yourself one question.”
I turned.
“Which one?”
“Why didn't you ever ask what William Sloane meant when I told you Claire was making one last attempt to pull you back?”
My hand froze on the door.
“What did you tell me?”
Margaret held my gaze.
“That is something you should remember yourself.”
I left angry.
But on the drive back to Chicago, something worse than anger began forming.
A memory.
Not clear.
Not yet.
A hotel in San Francisco.
My mother's voice.
Something about Claire.
May you like
And me saying:
“Handle it.”
Related Stories
