Chapter 4 – THE BOX IN THE LINEN CLOSET

Roman looked at his son for a long moment.

Then he pulled out the chair beside June.

“You don’t,” he said.

Oliver frowned.

“Don’t what?”

“You don’t have to earn anything that belonged to your mother.”

“But Celeste said—”

“I know what she said.”

Roman took a breath.

“And I should have made sure you understood something a long time ago. Those things belong to you because Rebecca was your mother. Nothing you do or say can change that.”

Oliver looked toward Celeste.

“Then can I have them tonight?”

“Yes.”

Celeste’s expression tightened.

“Roman, we’ve discussed this.”

“We’ve discussed putting Rebecca’s belongings somewhere safe. We never discussed using them to reward his behavior.”

“That isn’t fair.”

“Then explain it to me.”

Celeste looked at Oliver.

For the first time that evening, I saw genuine exhaustion in her face.

“Do you remember your birthday?” she asked him.

He nodded.

“Do you remember what happened when we looked through your mother’s things?”

Oliver lowered his eyes.

“I got upset.”

“You stopped eating dinner. You stayed awake almost all night.”

“I missed her.”

“I know, sweetheart.”

Celeste crouched beside him.

“And I was frightened because I couldn’t make it better.”

The room went quiet.

I remembered that birthday.

Oliver had turned ten in April. I’d carried a tray of untouched food upstairs after he refused to come down.

Celeste had been sitting outside his bedroom, still wearing her evening dress.

When I offered to take over, she’d shaken her head.

“He won’t let me leave,” she’d whispered.

I hadn’t forgotten that.

Whatever else Celeste had done, she’d stayed beside that frightened little boy for hours.

Roman seemed to remember something similar.

“I was in New York that night,” he said.

Celeste looked up.

“Yes. You were.”

He said nothing.

She stood.

“I asked you to come home. You said you’d be back in the morning.”

Roman’s eyes dropped.

“I remember.”

“And when he finally stopped crying, I promised we would put the things away until he felt ready.”

“That was your decision,” Roman said.

“Because someone had to make one.”

I couldn’t disagree with that entirely.

But Oliver was standing between them, hearing adults turn one of his worst nights into an argument over who had handled it correctly.

June seemed to notice.

She reached for his hand.

“Sweetheart, can I tell you something?”

He nodded.

“Your mother used to cry on her birthday.”

Oliver looked surprised.

“Why?”

“Because she missed her daddy. Even when she was forty.”

He considered that.

“Was she sad all day?”

“Not usually. She’d have a good cry, then she’d ask me to make pancakes.”

Oliver thought about it.

“That’s kind of weird.”

June smiled.

“It is.”

For the first time, Roman smiled too.

A small one.

Then Oliver asked, “Can I cry and still have pancakes?”

“Absolutely,” June said.

Roman turned toward Celeste.

“Where is the box?”

She hesitated.

“In the upstairs linen closet. The one we use for storage.”

“Emily, would you bring it down?”

Celeste removed a small brass key from her handbag.

I took it without speaking.

The closet was at the end of the upstairs hallway, beyond the rooms used for guests.

I found the box on the highest shelf.

It was made of pale cedar, with a brass clasp and a tiny star scratched into one corner.

Rebecca’s name had been written underneath.

I carried it downstairs carefully.

By the time I returned, the guests had been served appetizers in the reception room. Roman had asked the kitchen to keep the family’s meal warm.

The five of us were still gathered around the same table.

I placed the box in front of Oliver.

He touched the scratched star.

“Mom did that,” he said.

Roman leaned closer.

“She did?”

“With her keys. She said it was an accident.”

June laughed softly.

“That sounds like Rebecca.”

Oliver opened the clasp.

Inside lay a faded blue scarf, a little silver charm bracelet, several folded paper stars, and an old recipe card with butter stains along one edge.

Oliver picked up the bracelet.

Five small charms hung from it.

A heart.

A book.

A house.

A moon.

And a tiny silver star.

“Mom wore this when she made cookies,” he said.

June nodded.

“She was always getting flour caught between the charms.”

Oliver turned the bracelet over.

“Can I keep it?”

Roman’s voice was rough.

“Of course.”

Oliver slipped it into his pocket.

Then he searched the box again.

His smile disappeared.

“Where’s the red book?”

Celeste was looking at the table.

“What red book?”

“The one Mom wrote in.”

June lifted her head.

“Rebecca’s recipe notebook?”

Oliver nodded eagerly.

“She used to let me draw in the back.”

Roman looked inside the cedar box.

There was no notebook.

Celeste frowned.

“I may have put it with the cookbooks.”

Oliver shook his head.

“You said it was in the box.”

“I said your mother’s things were in the box.”

“You showed it to me on my birthday.”

Celeste looked uncomfortable.

“That was months ago.”

Oliver pressed his lips together.

“Can I have that too?”

Roman closed the lid.

“We’ll find it.”

June was watching Celeste closely.

“Was it a red cloth notebook with a loose ribbon inside?”

Celeste didn’t answer.

June stood slowly.

“Celeste, I sent that notebook here in April.”

Roman turned.

“You had it?”

“Rebecca gave it to me during her last months. She asked me to keep it until Oliver turned ten.”

Oliver looked up.

“Mom made something for my birthday?”

June touched his hair.

“Something she wanted you to have when you were older.”

Celeste spoke sharply.

“It was full of things that would have upset him.”

June looked at her.

“You read it?”

“I had to know what was appropriate.”

“Did you give him the pages Rebecca asked you to give him?”

Celeste said nothing.

Roman stood beside the table.

“June, what was in that notebook?”

“Recipes. Little stories. Things Rebecca wanted Oliver to remember.”

She paused.

“And something she wrote for the person who would eventually help raise him.”

Celeste closed her eyes.

June’s expression changed.

“Rebecca knew Roman might marry again someday. She wasn’t afraid of that.”

Oliver looked between them.

Then he reached into the cedar box one last time.

Underneath the blue scarf was a small cream-colored envelope.

It had been opened.

Nothing remained inside.

On the front, in Rebecca’s handwriting, were six words.

June stared at it.

Then she looked directly at Celeste.

“Where is the letter Rebecca put inside that envelope?”

Share