Vanessa almost smiled. “Trust me.” Darius looked at her hand, then placed his own in it.
She led him out of the kitchen. They crossed a formal living room that looked untouched, passed a dining room set for nobody, then climbed a curved staircase. Darius kept expecting Vanessa to explain.
She did not. At the top, she turned left away from the primary bedroom. At the end of the hallway stood a closed door.
Every other door used a simple brushed-metal handle. This one had a small lock. Vanessa stopped in front of it.
Her hand shook when she reached into a nearby drawer. Darius noticed but said nothing. She removed a key.
“I haven’t opened this in months.” Her voice had lost all executive precision. Darius suddenly understood the invitation had nothing to do with his joke.
Vanessa inserted the key. She unlocked the door. Then she remained standing in the hallway.
Darius waited. Vanessa finally pushed it open. “Come in.”
The room was smaller than he expected. Compared with the vast spaces downstairs, it almost felt intimate. It was filled with photographs.
A younger Vanessa laughed beside a tall man wearing a linen shirt on a beach. Another photograph showed them dressed formally beneath strings of lights, her face turned toward him rather than toward the camera. There were pictures from vacations, family holidays, university graduations, and ordinary afternoons that no professional photographer would have thought worth preserving. Every picture showed a version of Vanessa Darius had never seen.
A reading chair stood in the corner. A hardcover novel rested on one arm with a faded bookmark still inserted halfway through. A navy sport coat hung behind the door.
On the desk sat a shallow wooden dish. Inside it lay a man’s wedding band. Darius stopped moving.
“His name was Adrian.” Vanessa’s voice came from behind him. “Adrian Hartwell.”
Darius turned. Vanessa had not crossed the threshold. “Your husband.”
She nodded. “He died six years ago.” Her eyes stayed on the photographs. “Interstate 285.”
“A truck driver fell asleep.” Darius closed his eyes briefly. Vanessa continued before sympathy could interrupt her.
“We were married twelve years.” She folded her arms, not defensively but as though holding herself together. “He had stopped at the bookstore on his way home.”
“The book.” Darius looked toward the chair. Vanessa nodded.
“He never finished it.” For six years, the bookmark had remained exactly where Adrian left it. Vanessa had apparently been preserving not only his possessions but the exact interruption of his life.
“I kept everything.” Vanessa looked ashamed of the admission. “The jacket, the ring, his desk.”
“The book.” Darius said nothing. Vanessa finally stepped across the threshold.
Just one step. It looked harder than walking into any board meeting she had ever entered. Darius understood why.
“My wife died five years ago.” Vanessa looked at him immediately. The sentence had escaped before he could decide whether tonight required that much truth.
“Her name was Camille.” Darius looked toward one of Adrian’s photographs instead of directly at Vanessa. “Heart condition nobody knew about.”
Vanessa’s shoulders lowered slightly. Darius continued. “She was thirty-one.”
“I’m sorry.” Darius nodded. “Thank you.”
“I have a daughter.” Vanessa listened. “Nia.”
“She’s eight now.” His face changed despite himself. “She believes she is the smartest person in third grade and also believes she is extremely humble about it.”