I stood slowly.
Eleanor did not switch on the light.
For several seconds, we simply stared at each other across the dark dining room.
“What’s under the seat?” I asked.
“Nothing.”
I almost smiled.
“You’re not very convincing.”
Her expression hardened.
“You’ve caused enough trouble tonight.”
I looked at the faint bruise already forming on my wrist.
“I caused trouble?”
“You embarrassed me in my own home.”
“You pulled a pregnant woman out of a chair in front of your entire family.”
Her mouth tightened.
“I told you to move.”
“And I told you I was tired.”
“You don’t understand.”
“Then explain it.”
Silence.
The old clock in the hallway ticked.
Finally she said, “Margaret sat there.”
“I know.”
“It belonged to her.”
“I know that too.”
“Then there’s nothing more to discuss.”
She stepped forward.
I moved slightly, putting myself between her and the chair.
It was instinctive.
Her eyes dropped toward the hidden panel.
That confirmed everything.
“There’s something inside it.”
“No.”
“Then why do you care if I look?”
“Because it is not yours.”
“Neither is my wrist, but that didn’t stop you from grabbing it.”
Her face changed.
Not remorse.
Something colder.
“Go upstairs, Jennifer.”
I stared at her.
Then I walked past.
I did not sleep.
Daniel came to bed twenty minutes later.
He found me sitting against the headboard with my arms folded.
“You disappeared,” he said.
“I was downstairs.”
He loosened his tie.
“Mom said you were snooping around the dining room.”
I stared at him.
“She said that?”
“Jen, please.”
“No. Don’t ‘Jen, please’ me.”
He sighed.
His exhaustion irritated me more than anger would have.
“I know tonight was bad.”
“Bad?”
“She shouldn’t have touched you.”
“No, Daniel. She shouldn’t have dragged me out of a chair.”
“I know.”
“And then you told me she was emotional.”
“She was.”
“So was I.”
“I was trying to calm everybody down.”
“By making what she did sound reasonable?”
He sat on the edge of the bed.
“My aunt Margaret died when Mom was thirty-nine. They were extremely close.”
“How did she die?”
He hesitated.
“Car accident.”
“How old was she?”
“Forty-two, I think.”
“And that chair?”
“What about it?”
“There’s a hidden compartment underneath.”
Daniel looked at me.
For the first time that evening, he seemed genuinely surprised.
“What?”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
His answer came too quickly to be rehearsed.
That made me believe him.
“I saw a latch under the seat. Your mother caught me.”
He rubbed his face.
“Don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn Mom’s grief into some mystery.”
“She lied and said there was nothing there.”
“Maybe there isn’t.”
“She nearly panicked when she saw me touching it.”
He stood.
“Jennifer, can we please just get through the weekend?”
That sentence hurt more than I expected.
Get through the weekend.
As if I were the problem that needed managing.
I looked at my husband and realized he was asking me for the same thing he had apparently asked of himself his entire life.
Do not disturb Eleanor.
Do not ask why.
Do not touch what she has declared sacred.
I put my hand over my stomach.
The baby shifted beneath my palm.
“I want to go home tomorrow.”
Daniel stared at me.
“We told Dad we’d stay until Sunday.”
“I don’t care.”
“Jen.”
“I got pulled into a table tonight.”
His face softened.
“I know.”
“No. You keep saying that, but you don’t.”
He had no answer.
The next morning Eleanor behaved as if nothing had happened.
That frightened me more than another argument would have.
She served coffee.
She asked about the baby.
She offered me blueberry muffins.
When she noticed the bruise on my wrist, she looked away.
The chair was gone.
I noticed immediately.
Its place at the table was empty.
“Where is it?” I asked.
Eleanor paused while pouring coffee.
“Where is what?”
“Margaret’s chair.”
Daniel kicked my ankle beneath the table.
I ignored him.
Eleanor placed the coffeepot down carefully.
“I moved it.”
“Where?”
“Jennifer.”
Robert spoke this time.
His voice was gentle.
“Let it rest.”
I looked at my father-in-law.
He looked tired.
Older than he had the night before.
And suddenly I wondered if he knew.
That question stayed with me until noon.
Then Eleanor and Robert left to pick up food for the relatives returning for lunch.
Daniel went outside to help his cousin repair a loose fence panel.
The house became quiet.
I told myself I was going upstairs to pack.
Instead, I found myself standing in front of the locked door to Eleanor’s sewing room.
Through the old keyhole, I could see one carved wooden leg.
The chair was inside.
I should have walked away.
I knew that.
But then something small slid beneath the door.
A folded piece of yellowed paper.
I bent down.
It must have been caught under the chair when Eleanor moved it.
I unfolded it.
Only six words were written on the visible side.
In faded blue ink.
Ellie, you promised me he’d never know.
My hands went cold.
At the bottom was a signature.
Margaret.
And suddenly the chair was no longer a memorial.
It was a hiding place.
