Chapter 2 - The Name She Buried
Spencer knocked again.
"Mom."
Constance wiped her cheeks so quickly that I might have imagined the tears if I hadn't been standing directly in front of her.
She straightened her shoulders.
Smoothed her robe.
Lifted her chin.
Then she whispered, "Not a word about Catherine."
I stared at her.
"You just asked about my father."
"Please."
The word was so unexpected that it stopped me.
Constance Prescott did not say please.
She gave instructions.
She issued invitations.
She informed people when they were being inappropriate.
But she did not ask.
I walked to the door and unlocked it.
Spencer stood outside in his white dress shirt, suspenders hanging loose at his sides, his dark hair still damp from the shower.
He was thirty-four.
Tall.
Kind-eyed.
A little nervous even on ordinary days.
I had loved that face from the moment we met.
Right then, I barely recognized it.
He looked furious.
Behind him stood his best man, Owen Mercer, and a club employee I recognized from the front desk.
Spencer's eyes went immediately to the ruined jacket.
He stepped inside.
"Mom, tell me you had nothing to do with that."
Constance's expression hardened.
"Spencer, lower your voice."
"Tell me."
"You're making a scene."
He looked around the empty room.
"There's nobody here."
"That doesn't mean you should shout."
He stared at her.
Then he turned to me.
"Erin, Dana showed me the picture."
I closed my eyes.
Of course Dana had taken a picture.
She was an Army captain.
She knew how to preserve evidence, even while furious.
Spencer stepped closer.
"Did you see who did it?"
"No."
He swallowed.
"But you came here."
"Yes."
He looked at his mother.
"Why?"
Constance spoke before I could answer.
"Because she's upset and looking for someone to blame."
Spencer turned toward her.
"There's a note."
His voice was low.
"A note in your handwriting."
Constance folded her arms.
"Anyone could imitate handwriting."
I looked at her.
The lie came effortlessly.
It was almost impressive.
Spencer reached into his pocket.
He pulled out his phone and held up the photograph Dana had sent him.
"Know your place."
He read the words slowly.
Then he looked up.
"You've said that to Erin before."
Constance said nothing.
"At Thanksgiving."
Her eyes flickered.
"When she corrected Uncle Robert about women in combat."
"That was a private conversation."
Spencer took another step toward her.
"You told her to remember her place."
I remembered that dinner.
The polished table.
The expensive roast.
The way his uncle had laughed when I explained the training requirements for my assignment.
Constance had smiled and touched my wrist.
Darling, you must remember your place at a family table.
Spencer had heard it.
And done nothing.
Now he looked as though the memory physically hurt him.
"Mom."
His voice cracked.
"Did you do this?"
For the first time, I saw her consider telling the truth.
Her gaze moved between us.
Then she said, "I arranged for an adjustment."
Spencer blinked.
"What does that mean?"
"The uniform was inappropriate for the ceremony."
I felt the room tilt.
Spencer stared at her.
"So you had it destroyed?"
"I asked someone to make sure she wore the gown I purchased."
The silence was terrible.
He looked at me.
"You bought her a gown?"
Constance lifted her chin.
"A beautiful ivory silk dress."
"I never agreed to wear it," I said.
"Because you insisted on making everything about your military career."
Spencer turned back toward her.
"Who touched the uniform?"
She looked away.
"Mother."
He rarely called her that.
Usually, he said Mom.
When he was angry, he sometimes said Connie, and she hated it.
But that afternoon he sounded like a boy discovering his mother was capable of something awful.
"Who did it?"
Constance's lips tightened.
"I will not be interrogated in my own room."
Spencer stepped back.
He took out his phone.
"Then I'm calling security."
"No."
The word escaped her too quickly.
Spencer froze.
Constance stared at the phone.
Then she looked at me.
"Erin, tell him."
I didn't move.
"Tell him this can be handled privately."
I remembered how I had asked Dana not to call security.
Only minutes earlier, I had wanted the same thing.
But standing there watching Constance twist her own son's love into another shield, I understood something.
Privacy was what had protected her.
Not kindness.
Not dignity.
Privacy.
I looked at Spencer.
"Call them."
Constance flinched.
He dialed.
And while he spoke to the club's general manager, I picked up my jacket.
My hands began shaking again.
Spencer noticed.
He ended the call and came to me.
"Baby."
I stepped away.
His face fell.
"Erin."
"I need to ask you something."
"Anything."
"Why didn't you ever stop her?"
He looked toward his mother.
Then back at me.
"Erin, I—"
"No."
My voice came out harder than I intended.
"Please don't tell me she doesn't mean it."
His shoulders slumped.
"She gets difficult."
"She humiliated my father."
"I know."
"She laughed at my career."
"I know."
"She called my uniform a costume."
His eyes filled.
"I know."
I stared at him.
"Then why did you keep asking me to understand her?"
He had no answer.
That hurt more than I expected.
Because Spencer was not cruel.
He remembered my coffee order.
He brought flowers to my mother.
He spent an entire weekend helping Dad repair the old lawn mower the summer before his cancer diagnosis.
He loved me in a hundred small ways.
But when his mother walked into a room, that love always seemed to become negotiable.
Constance spoke from behind him.
"Spencer, surely you aren't going to allow her to speak to you like that."
He turned.
"Stop."
She blinked.
"What?"
"Just stop talking."
Her mouth opened.
Then closed.
A knock came at the open door.
The club's general manager, Mr. Julian Harrow, stood in the hallway.
He was a silver-haired man in a charcoal suit who had handled Savannah weddings for almost thirty years.
Two security officers stood behind him.
He took in the scene with professional restraint.
"Mr. Prescott."
Then he looked at me.
"Captain Lennox."
I appreciated that.
More than he could have known.
"May we speak privately?"
Constance immediately stepped forward.
"Julian, this is a misunderstanding."
He looked at her with polite concern.
"I'm afraid I've received a report concerning damaged personal property."
"Nothing happened that cannot be repaired."
He glanced toward the jacket.
His expression changed.
"Mrs. Prescott."
She smiled tightly.
"Julian."
"We need to determine who had access to the bridal suite."
Constance laughed.
"Surely you're not treating this as a criminal matter."
"I haven't made that determination."
His eyes returned to me.
"Captain, may I ask where the uniform was last secured?"
"In my room."
"Was the door locked?"
"Yes."
"Who had access?"
"I don't know."
He nodded.
"We'll review the electronic lock records."
Constance's hand tightened around the pearls at her throat.
I noticed.
So did Spencer.
"Mom?"
She did not answer.
Mr. Harrow continued.
"We also have hallway cameras."
Constance turned toward him.
"Julian, you know our family."
"I do."
"And you know what this wedding means to Savannah."
"Yes, ma'am."
"Then I expect some discretion."
He stood a little straighter.
"Discretion doesn't include destroying evidence."
The words landed like a slap.
Constance stared at him.
Spencer closed his eyes.
For a second, I thought the worst part of the afternoon had already happened.
I was wrong.
Because Mr. Harrow turned to me.
"Captain Lennox, there's another matter."
Something in his voice made me look up.
"The uniform wasn't the only item removed from your suite."
My stomach tightened.
"What?"
He hesitated.
"Your father's photograph."
I gripped the ruined jacket.
The photograph had been sitting on my dressing table.
Dad in his Army work uniform, standing beside twenty-two-year-old me on the day I received my commission.
He was smiling so broadly that his eyes had almost disappeared.
Mom had placed the framed picture in my wedding bag herself.
My father couldn't walk me down the aisle.
So the photograph was going to sit in the front pew.
I looked at Constance.
She stared at the floor.
"Where is it?"
No answer.
"Constance."
Her lips trembled.
"I didn't know that was part of the arrangement."
Spencer went very still.
"What arrangement?"
She looked at Julian Harrow.
Then at the two security officers.
Finally, she whispered, "I wanted the reminders removed."
My voice sounded strange to my own ears.
"What reminders?"
She looked directly at me.
"The Army."
The room fell silent.
My father had been reduced to a reminder.
My career had been reduced to an embarrassment.
My promise had been reduced to an inconvenience.
And somewhere in that building, the photograph of the best man I had ever known was missing because my future mother-in-law couldn't stand the sight of a uniform.
Spencer stepped away from her.
He took my hand.
This time, I didn't pull away.
"Julian," he said.
"Find that photograph."
Mr. Harrow nodded.
"And preserve the camera recordings."
"Of course."
Spencer swallowed.
"Also, I need you to stop the wedding preparations."
Constance's head jerked up.
"Spencer!"
He didn't look at her.
"Don't cancel anything yet."
Then he turned to me.
"Erin gets to decide what happens next."
The words should have comforted me.
Instead, they made me realize something painful.
He had finally given me a choice.
Only after his mother had taken away the one thing I wanted.
I looked toward Constance.
"Before I decide, I want an answer."
Her face was drained of color.
I held her gaze.
"How did you know my father?"
Spencer frowned.
"What?"
Constance shook her head.
"Erin, don't."
I took a step toward her.
"His name was Arthur Boyd Lennox."
She closed her eyes.
"He served at Fort Gordon in 1991."
"Please."
I lowered my voice.
"Why did hearing his name scare you?"
Spencer looked between us.
"Mom?"
Constance opened her eyes.
May you like
Then, so quietly that only the three of us could hear, she said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
"Because your father was the reason I came home alive."
