Chapter 2 - The Paper Boat in Her Pocket
Celeste Vanderpool had been trained since childhood to survive uncomfortable rooms.
She knew how to redirect conversation.
How to make an insult sound like a compliment.
How to cry without disturbing her makeup.
How to turn witnesses into accomplices simply by acting as though everyone already agreed with her.
For most of her life, those talents had worked.
They did not work on Rafferty Cain.
The doors to the staircase hall closed behind the last staff member.
Only four people remained.
Rafferty.
Fay.
Celeste.
Silvano.
The chandeliers hummed softly overhead.
Celeste drew herself upright.
“If you’re expecting me to apologize because a waitress embarrassed me—”
“She’s not a waitress,” Rafferty said.
Celeste gave a frustrated laugh.
“Fine. Maid. Server. Caterer. Whatever title you prefer.”
Rafferty’s expression hardened.
“Her title is not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“That you thought you had the right to put another human being on her knees for three hours.”
Celeste folded her arms.
“You are deliberately making this sound worse than it was.”
Fay stood near the staircase, uncertain whether she should remain.
Her legs throbbed.
Her knees burned.
More than anything, she wanted to collect her coat, take the streetcar home, climb the stairs to her apartment, and place her hand against Josie’s sleeping back just to feel her breathing.
This world was not hers.
Rich people could destroy one another with lawyers, contracts, reputations, and whispers.
Fay could not afford to become part of their war.
“Mr. Cain,” she said softly, “I should go.”
Rafferty turned.
“You will be paid for the entire shift.”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
She hesitated.
“I don’t want trouble.”
Celeste immediately seized the opening.
“There. She agrees.”
Fay looked at her.
“No.”
The single word surprised everyone.
Including Fay.
Celeste’s mouth tightened.
Fay straightened despite the pain in her knees.
“I said I don’t want trouble. I didn’t say you were right.”
A long silence followed.
Celeste’s cheeks flushed.
Rafferty looked almost impressed.
Fay took a breath.
“You spilled the wine yourself.”
Celeste stared.
“You reached across my tray because you saw Mr. Cain looking in my direction.”
“That is ridiculous.”
“You asked my name twenty minutes later.”
Celeste took one step forward.
“You had better think carefully—”
Rafferty moved between them.
He did not touch Celeste.
He did not need to.
“Finish,” he told Fay.
Fay looked at him.
Then she continued.
“She asked whether I was married. She asked whether I had children. Then she said women like me should remember that kindness from powerful men wasn’t the same as interest.”
Rafferty slowly turned toward his fiancée.
Celeste lifted her chin.
“I was warning her not to misunderstand attention.”
“I barely spoke to her all evening.”
“That doesn’t mean she wasn’t trying to attract you.”
Fay almost laughed.
The accusation was so absurd she might have found it funny under different circumstances.
“I was carrying champagne.”
Celeste’s eyes flashed.
“And staring.”
“At where?”
“At him.”
Fay rubbed one hand over her tired forehead.
“I was checking whether his glass needed replacing.”
Silvano coughed into his fist.
It might have hidden a laugh.
Celeste shot him a furious look.
Rafferty’s face remained unreadable.
“What happened next?” he asked.
Fay explained.
Celeste had tipped the glass while reaching across the tray.
Wine splashed over her dress.
People turned.
Celeste accused Fay immediately.
Fay apologized even though she knew she had not caused it.
Celeste demanded the catering manager dismiss her.
Mrs. Odette protested.
Celeste threatened to have the company banned from every Vanderpool event in Louisiana.
Then she told Fay she could keep the shift if she proved she understood respect.
“What did proving respect mean?” Rafferty asked.
Fay’s eyes dropped.
“Kneeling.”
Rafferty stared at Celeste.
“You threatened a catering company because an employee wouldn’t kneel?”
Celeste scoffed.
“I expected an apology.”
“She already apologized.”
“She wasn’t sincere.”
“So you ordered her onto the floor.”
Celeste’s voice rose.
“You have employees terrified of disappointing you every day.”
“That isn’t the same thing.”
“Isn’t it?”
“No.”
The certainty of his answer silenced her.
Rafferty moved closer.
“I expect people who work with me to keep agreements. I do not require them to surrender their dignity.”
Celeste gave him a bitter smile.
“Oh, please. Don’t suddenly pretend you’re a saint.”
“I’ve never claimed to be.”
“Men fear you.”
“Yes.”
“You ruin people.”
“Sometimes.”
“You’ve forced people out of this city.”
“When they betrayed contracts they willingly entered.”
“And that makes you morally superior?”
“No.”
Rafferty’s voice remained quiet.
“It means I know exactly what I am.”
The words landed harder than shouting would have.
“You,” he continued, “hurt someone who could not safely fight back and called it discipline.”
Celeste’s confidence wavered.
Fay watched Rafferty carefully.
She had heard stories about him.
Everyone in New Orleans had.
Some were probably exaggerated.
Some probably were not.
Yet the man standing between her and Celeste did not behave like the monster gossip columns implied.
That did not make him safe.
Power was still power.
Fay had learned that kind men could leave too.
She folded her arms around herself.
Rafferty noticed.
“Are you cold?”
“I’m fine.”
He gave her a look.
She almost remembered his earlier remark about that being her favorite lie.
Before she could answer, Silvano removed his suit jacket and offered it.
Fay hesitated, then accepted.
“Thank you.”
Celeste laughed without humor.
“This is unbelievable.”
Rafferty ignored her.
His attention returned to the old boat.
“Tell me about Saint Aurelia’s.”
Fay frowned.
“Tonight?”
“Yes.”
“My mother worked there.”
“Marguerite?”
Fay’s eyes widened.
“You remember her name?”
“Your mother made gumbo on Sundays.”
A small, astonished smile appeared on Fay’s face.
“You hated the celery.”
“I still hate celery.”
For the first time since Rafferty entered the hallway, tension loosened.
Only slightly.
Fay looked at the old paper boat again.
“I remember you now.”
Celeste glanced between them.
Silvano remained silent.
“You were Raff,” Fay said.
Rafferty had not heard anyone call him that in decades.
The name hit somewhere behind his ribs.
“You wouldn’t tell anyone your full name.”
“I didn’t trust anybody.”
“You bit Brother Matthew.”
Silvano turned his face away.
Rafferty gave him a warning look.
Fay’s smile grew despite herself.
“He tried to take medicine from you because you said it smelled like feet.”
“It did.”
“You were impossible.”
“I was eight.”
“You were impossible at eight.”
“What were you? Nine?”
“Ten.”
He nodded slowly.
Memories returned in fragments.
A girl sitting cross-legged beside a narrow bed.
Chestnut hair longer then.
Gray eyes.
A missing front tooth.
Hands folding paper.
Stories about boats traveling down the Mississippi all the way to the ocean.
Rafferty had searched for her years later.
Saint Aurelia’s records were incomplete.
Marguerite Delacroix had left employment suddenly.
The girl disappeared with her.
He had assumed he would never know what happened.
“How long were you there?” he asked.
“Until my mother lost her job.”
“Why?”
Fay’s expression changed.
“I don’t know.”
Rafferty noticed the hesitation.
“You don’t know or you don’t want to tell me?”
“My mother never explained.”
Silvano spoke for the first time.
“When?”
Fay gave the year.
Rafferty and Silvano exchanged a glance.
That was the same year ownership of Saint Aurelia’s surrounding land had been transferred through a charitable trust connected to the Vanderpool family.
Celeste noticed their reaction.
“What?”
Neither man answered.
Fay saw it too.
“What does that year mean?”
Rafferty slipped the paper boat carefully back into its leather sleeve.
“I don’t know yet.”
Celeste’s face tightened.
“There is nothing to know. Thousands of people worked for charities my family supported.”
“Supported?” Silvano asked.
Celeste looked at him.
“Yes.”
Silvano nodded slowly.
“Interesting word.”
Rafferty turned to Fay.
“Do you have somewhere safe to go tonight?”
The question offended her.
“I have a home.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“I know exactly what you meant.”
Rafferty paused.
Fay handed Silvano his jacket.
“I appreciate what you did. Truly. But I don’t need rescuing.”
Rafferty regarded her for several seconds.
Something about the sentence made him strangely glad.
“Good.”
Fay blinked.
He continued.
“I don’t particularly want to rescue you.”
Celeste looked startled.
Silvano almost smiled again.
Fay stared at Rafferty.
“What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“About tonight?”
“About a number of things.”
“That sounds expensive.”
The response escaped before she could reconsider.
Rafferty’s mouth twitched.
“Most truth is.”
Fay retrieved her drawing.
Rafferty released it reluctantly.
The paper boat remained with him.
“I should leave.”
“I’ll have a driver take you.”
“No.”
“It’s after midnight.”
“I take the streetcar.”
“At this hour?”
“Yes.”
Rafferty looked as though he disliked the answer.
Fay raised an eyebrow.
He recognized the challenge.
“All right.”
She seemed surprised he did not argue.
Silvano opened the door.
Before Fay stepped through, Rafferty spoke.
“Miss Delacroix.”
She turned.
He held up the leather sleeve containing the boat.
“I looked for you.”
Her expression softened.
“For how long?”
“Years.”
Fay said nothing.
Something unspoken passed between them.
Not romance.
Not yet.
Something older.
Two children recognizing each other across nearly three decades.
Celeste watched it happen.
And hated every second.
Fay finally whispered, “I didn’t know.”
Then she left.
Rafferty waited until her footsteps disappeared.
Only then did he turn toward Celeste.
She crossed her arms.
“Are we finished?”
“No.”
“Then say whatever dramatic thing you’ve been preparing.”
Rafferty removed the engagement ring from his pocket.
Celeste stared at it.
He had not yet officially placed it on her finger because the public presentation was scheduled for the final toast.
Now he set the ring on the marble table between them.
Celeste’s face changed.
“What are you doing?”
“Postponing the announcement.”
“Rafferty.”
“Until I understand what happened tonight.”
“You believe her over me?”
“I believe what I saw.”
Celeste stepped closer.
“You cannot humiliate my family because a maid cried on your floor.”
Rafferty’s gray eyes turned cold.
“She wasn’t crying when I found her.”
Celeste faltered.
“That’s what worries me.”
He walked past her.
Silvano followed.
At the doorway, Rafferty stopped.
“Have someone bring Celeste’s car.”
Celeste stared at him.
“You’re asking me to leave my own engagement party?”
“I’m asking you to leave my house.”
Her face went white.
Rafferty did not wait for a response.
Twenty minutes later, the Cain Estate was still glowing.
Guests were told that the final toast had been delayed because of a private family matter.
Fay was already several blocks away.
She sat near the window of a nearly empty streetcar, feet aching, apron folded in her lap.
Her wages were tucked safely inside her bag.
So was Josie’s drawing.
Fay watched New Orleans slide past in streaks of amber light.
She should have been thinking about Rafferty.
About Saint Aurelia’s.
About the impossible paper boat.
Instead, she thought about the envelope waiting unopened on her kitchen table.
The hospital had sent it two days earlier.
She already knew what it probably contained.
Another payment deadline.
Another reminder that hope came with a price.
When Fay finally reached her apartment, she found Josie asleep on the sofa downstairs beside Mrs. Evelyn from the first floor.
A blue paper boat rested against the child’s chest.
Fay’s throat tightened.
She carried her daughter upstairs.
Josie stirred as Fay laid her in bed.
One small hand reached automatically toward Fay’s cheek.
Fay leaned closer.
“Mommy’s here.”
Josie smiled in her sleep.
For several minutes, Fay remained beside her.
Then she went to the kitchen.
The hospital envelope waited beneath a cup.
Fay opened it.
She read the first line.
Then the second.
Her knees nearly failed again.
The deadline had changed.
Unless she paid the remaining deposit within ten days, Josie’s scheduled procedure would be released to another patient.
The amount missing was more than Fay could earn in six months.
She sank into a chair.
Across the city, Rafferty Cain stood alone in his study holding the oldest possession he owned.
The paper boat.
Silvano entered without knocking.
“I found something.”
Rafferty looked up.
Silvano placed a photocopied property record on the desk.
At the bottom was a familiar name.
VANDERPOOL CHARITABLE HOLDINGS.
And beneath it was another.
SAINT AURELIA’S CHILDREN’S HOME.
Rafferty stared.
“What am I looking at?”
Silvano’s expression hardened.
“The reason Marguerite Delacroix may have disappeared.”
He turned the page.
Rafferty read the first paragraph.
Then went completely still.
Because the document suggested that Fay’s mother had not simply lost her job.
She had tried to expose someone.
May you like
And the family named in her complaint belonged to the woman Rafferty had almost married.
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