Chapter 3

By our third morning at the estate, even the closet had been promised to someone else.

We were eating breakfast on the terrace. Dad's folded newspaper lay next to his espresso, and Mom was spreading butter on a pastry for Grace.

“Once Claire goes, let's use that room near the laundry for Grace's canvases,” Mom said. “We'll need temperature and humidity control. You can't let paintings get damp.”

Dad kept his eyes on the paper. “Get somebody in to measure.”

Two remarks. That was all it took to give away the place where I slept.

Grace lowered her fork. “There's really no need. I hardly have any paintings yet.”

Adrian ruffled her hair. “You will next year.”

I drank my coffee on the opposite side of the table.

No one had asked whether I wanted to leave, where I would be going, or how long I would be gone. They certainly hadn't asked if I was coming back.

They only wanted the space I occupied.

After I left, they would repaint and clear it out until nothing remained to show I'd been there.

That afternoon, Nathan arrived with a big shopping bag and a much smaller one.

He placed the larger bag in front of Grace. It held a wooden box of professional oil paints from Paris. Against the couch he'd propped a walnut easel with a ribbon tied around it. Part of the price label was still attached: $3,000.

“Adrian mentioned you wanted to give oils a shot,” he said.

Grace brightened and lifted the lid with careful hands.

Nathan turned to me with the other bag.

Chocolates. There was still a yellow markdown label on the box. $6.99.

“Picked these up on the way over. You like candy, don't you?”

I didn't.

I'd told him again and again. I liked spicy food. A winter evening and a plate of arrabbiata hot enough to make my nose run—that made me happy. Sweets never had.

He could remember Grace's favorite brushes and her interest in oil painting.

Something that simple about me had never stayed with him.

“I don't eat much candy,” I said.

He rubbed the back of his neck and smiled as though it didn't matter. “Well, give them to Grace. Somebody ought to enjoy them.”

I left the chocolates on the table and went down the laundry hall.

Just before I closed my door, I heard Grace say softly, “I think that hurt her feelings.”

Nathan didn't respond.

A moment later, he was admiring the shade of cobalt blue in her new paint set.

Once I was out of sight, he hadn't even needed to discuss me. To him there was nothing to discuss.

Near dinner, I came out to get water.

My parents' door was slightly ajar. I stopped when I heard Dad.

“Do you think Claire's okay? She's hardly spoken since we got here.”

He sounded uncertain. Concerned, even.

I waited with my glass in my hand, my pulse speeding up.

Mom answered before I could let myself hope.

“What's supposed to be wrong with her? She's always been quiet and sulky. Don't encourage her now, Dominic. You'll make her impossible.”

Silence followed for a couple of seconds.

Dad let the subject drop.

Someone had noticed after all.

He simply wasn't going to do anything about it.

Later, Grace left her tablet on the living room sofa to charge. As I passed, a notification lit up the display.

Order confirmed. Furniture from Milan. Total paid: $80,000.00. Cardholder: Caroline Moretti.

I couldn't help adding it up: silk bedding, curtains made to order, the mattress, the Murano glass lamp. Mom had spent more than a hundred thousand dollars furnishing one room.

Farther down the hallway was my basement mattress, a corner still wet.

Mom had given Grace a black credit card on her eighteenth birthday.

My authorized-user card had such a small spending limit that I could barely use it. Every purchase brought questions. What had I bought? Why did I need it? Eventually I stopped using it. Teaching-assistant work and tutoring had covered college.

I couldn't honestly call myself surprised.

Seeing the amounts on a screen just made it harder to ignore.

Before I went to sleep, Grace knocked.

She waited outside with a shopping bag, rocking uneasily on her feet.

“I bought you something. Not with Caroline's card—I sold a couple of paintings. I used that money. I thought you'd look beautiful in it.”

Out came a dress.

Pink with tiny flowers, almost the same pattern as her curtains.

I never dressed in pink. I'd always loved blue.

But she looked so eager for me to like it that I accepted the dress and thanked her.

At least one person in the house had thought of me that day, even if the person she imagined wasn't much like me.

Just past midnight, an email arrived from the facility.

Security clearance approved. Report by August 15. Personal phones and other communication devices would be surrendered at check-in.

Professor Bennett had included a note.

Everyone's eager to meet you. We're building this project around your model. Get here as soon as you're able.

I went through it three times.

In eight days, I would be with people who wanted me there.

None of them were under this roof.