Now she was staring at Nora.
Not at her face.
At the ring.
Eleanor slowly stood.
“Where did you get that?”
Her voice was quiet.
But the silence in the room made it carry.
Nora looked around.
“Excuse me?”
“The ring.”
Eleanor stepped away from her table.
Her daughter, Patricia, reached for her arm.
“Mother?”
Eleanor ignored her.
“Where did you get that ring?”
Nora closed her fingers around it.
“It belonged to my mother.”
Eleanor stopped.
For several seconds, her face revealed nothing.
Then she whispered one word.
“What?”
Nora could feel hundreds of eyes on her.
“My mother gave it to me.”
Eleanor came closer.
“May I see it?”
Nora hesitated.
Grant was no longer smiling.
Lillian looked confused.
Owen quietly asked, “Grandmother, what is happening?”
Eleanor held out her hand.
“Please.”
Something in the old woman’s voice changed Nora’s mind.
She removed the chain.
The ring fell into her palm.
Eleanor took it with trembling fingers.
The gold was scratched from decades of wear. A tiny blue stone sat beside a much smaller diamond.
Eleanor turned it over.
There were three letters engraved inside.
M. E. S.
Her breath caught.
Patricia stepped closer.
“What is it?”
Eleanor looked at Nora.
“Your mother’s name.”
Nora swallowed.
“Marianne Hayes.”
Eleanor’s eyes filled with tears.
“No.”
The single word seemed to frighten everyone around her.
Nora frowned.
“Yes.”
“No,” Eleanor repeated. “Before Hayes.”
Nora stared at her.
“My mother never talked about her family.”
Eleanor closed her eyes.
When she opened them again, she looked suddenly older.
“What year was she born?”
“1967.”
Patricia covered her mouth.
Lillian turned toward her mother.
“Mom?”
Patricia shook her head.
“No. That’s impossible.”
“What is impossible?”
Eleanor looked down at the ring.
Then she said, “Marianne Sterling.”
Nobody spoke.
Nora almost laughed because the statement made so little sense.
“I think you’re mistaken.”
“I gave this ring to my daughter on her eighteenth birthday.”
Nora’s hand went cold.
Eleanor continued.
“The blue stone came from a brooch that belonged to my mother. Marianne hated expensive jewelry. She said diamonds made people behave strangely.”
A broken smile appeared on Eleanor’s face.
“So I had this made for her.”
Nora stared at the ring.
She had seen her mother wear it every day.
Cooking breakfast.
Driving to work.
Sitting beside Nora’s hospital bed when she had pneumonia at nine.
Signing school papers.
Planting tomatoes behind their small house.
Dying in a hospice room with Nora holding her hand.
Three weeks before her death, Marianne had removed the ring and pressed it into Nora’s palm.
“Keep this,” she had said.
“Why?”
“Because one day someone may recognize it.”
Nora had assumed the medication was confusing her.
Now she could barely breathe.
“My mother died eight months ago,” Nora said.
Eleanor’s face collapsed.
“Eight months?”
“Yes.”
“You’re certain?”
Nora stared at her.
“I buried her.”
Eleanor turned away.
For a moment, Nora thought she might fall.
Patricia caught her arm.
“Mother, sit down.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“I said no.”
Eleanor faced Nora again.
“I was told Marianne died thirty-one years ago.”
The ballroom seemed to shrink.
Nora whispered, “Who told you that?”
No one answered.
Then a man near the windows stood.
Charles Sterling.
Eleanor’s younger brother.
Seventy-six years old. Retired judge. Family patriarch. The man who had given the ceremonial toast less than an hour earlier about honor, tradition, and the Sterling name.
He looked at Eleanor.
“Not here.”
Eleanor stared at him.
“Charles.”
“Ellie, this is Lillian’s wedding.”
“I know exactly where I am.”
People began whispering.
Charles walked toward them.
“We can discuss this privately.”
Nora saw something in his expression.
Fear.
Not surprise.
Fear.
Eleanor saw it too.
“You knew.”
Charles stopped.
Patricia whispered, “Uncle Charles?”
Eleanor took another step.
“You knew Marianne was alive.”
Charles lowered his voice.
“Your husband made decisions he believed were necessary.”
“My husband?”
“He was protecting the family.”
Eleanor laughed once.
It was a terrible sound.
“From my daughter?”
Charles looked around at the guests.
“Please.”
Nora suddenly understood why her mother had never spoken about her childhood.
She remembered small things.
How Marianne refused to watch society weddings on television.
How she became quiet whenever someone mentioned Charleston.
How she once burned an unopened envelope without showing Nora what was inside.
Nora looked at Charles.
“What happened?”
He studied her.
“You shouldn’t be involved in this.”
Nora almost smiled.