“You really thought I didn’t recognize her at the wedding?”
“My mother never recovered from what you did,” Claire said.
My mother looked at me. “Did you honestly believe your father and I wouldn’t notice who you married? You married the help’s daughter. But a deal’s a deal, Adam.”
Claire didn’t flinch. “No. He married the daughter of the woman you blamed because it was easier than admitting you were wrong.”
“You married the help’s daughter.”
A couple at the next table went quiet. Even the waiter slowed down.
My father shifted in his seat. “Claire, lower your voice.”
“Why?” she asked. “Didn’t your wife make sure everyone heard it when she called my mother a thief?”
My mother’s face drained. “She stole from us.”
“No,” I said. “You found the bracelet later. And you let her live with that lie.”
My father looked around the room and muttered, “Adam, enough.”
“Claire, lower your voice.”
“No,” I said again. “Not this time.”
The club manager had stopped near the bar, frowning at our table. My mother grabbed her purse. She stood so fast her chair scraped the floor. Half the room looked over.
“Richard, we’re leaving.”
Claire rose too, calm and steady. “My mother has a name. It’s Martha.”
My father followed my mother out without another word.
I left cash on the table and stood. “I’m not taking another cent from either of you.”
Claire reached for my hand, and this time I held on first.
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