The fountain at the Sterling Estate caught the afternoon light perfectly. Water arced through the air in crystalline streams as June’s sun filtered through old oak trees. I stood at the edge of the reception, watching my daughter’s wedding celebration unfold across the manicured lawn. Two hundred guests, champagne glasses catching the light, laughter floating on the warm breeze.
Lauren, my only child, looked beautiful in her silk wedding dress that moved like water. Trevor Kingsley, her new husband, stood beside her with one hand on her waist, the other gesturing to his finance friends. He’d already loosened his tie—confident, comfortable, like a man who knew he’d won something.
I’d been carrying the passbook in my purse all afternoon, the leather worn soft from thirty years of my fingers. I’d wrapped it in cream paper, tied it with a ribbon the color of Lauren’s flowers. Simple, the way I’d always kept things.
I waited until my daughter stood alone near the fountain, then approached with the package extended.
“Lauren, honey, I wanted to give you this.”
She turned, and I saw that flicker of discomfort cross her face. She glanced over my shoulder, checking who might be watching.
“Mom, hi.” She took the package carefully. “You didn’t have to.”
“I wanted to. It’s something I’ve been saving for you.”
Before she could respond, Lillian Kingsley appeared at her elbow. My new son-in-law’s mother had that talent of materializing exactly when she wasn’t wanted, trailing Chanel No. 5 and judgment in equal measure.
“Oh, how lovely,” Lillian said, her smile sharp as cut glass. “What do we have here?”
