Christopher Smith - Fifth Avenue

“Eight?”

“Do you know what was in them?”

The young man shrugged. “Office supplies?”

“Office supplies?”

“Maybe not. I don’t know. I only caught a glimpse.” He looked at his watch. “Look, Miss Redman, if I’m going to deliver these boxes to him, I should probably get going. My break’s over in another ten minutes.”

Celina turned to the table beside her and reached for her purse. She removed a $50 bill, glanced at him, and then removed another. “Don’t worry about being late,” she said. “You work in receiving here, don’t you? I’ll phone Jake and tell him to give you the rest of the day off-with pay.” She handed him the money. “And this is for you. Thanks for the information, Dan. I appreciate it.”

“My pleasure.” And he was gone with the first of Eric’s belongings.

She moved through her apartment. Every room, every corridor, was quiet and mysterious and changed. Her home seemed foreign to her now. The rooms were weirdly bare. Although she had never paid much attention to them before, Celina now was acutely aware that the photographs of Eric and her no longer rested on side tables or hung on walls. Now they were packed away in boxes.

She stepped into her bedroom. The bed, the antique chairs and tables Eric bought for her while abroad on business all remained, as did the shelves of hardcover books they once read in bed. The books and the chairs and the tables would stay, she decided. Celina needed some tangible proof that what she and Eric had was real.

As she turned to leave, she caught a glimpse of herself in the bedroom’s full-length mirror. She was an unfamiliar woman who no longer looked happy, but years wiser than she had only days ago.

She closed the door behind her when she left the room. It was getting late. She wondered if her father had finished shooting with Frostman. When she left him that morning, she returned to Manhattan to pack the rest of Eric’s clothes. Although the job didn't take long, it had seemed to her like a lifetime.

She wondered if George was angry with her for not returning. After the way he treated her, she decided, for the first time in her life, that she didn’t really care. The phone rang just as Dan was leaving with the final box. Celina answered it in the living room.

“Where have you been?” George asked. “We missed you this afternoon.”

It was not anger she heard in his voice, but something else. Regret…? “I’ve been here,” Celina said. “Cleaning.”

“Since when?”

“Since I decided to get rid of Eric’s things.”

A silence passed. Celina dropped into a chair covered in glazed cream chintz and said, “What’s up, Dad? Why are you calling?”

“Two reasons. First, I wanted to apologize for what happened earlier. I never should have reacted the way I did and I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Sometimes her father sounded so formal it amused her. “There’s nothing to forgive,” she said, wanting to put it behind her. “Let’s just forget about it, okay?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“How’d your meeting go with Ted?”

“It went fine," George said. "But we’ll discuss that later. I’m calling for another reason.”

“What’s that?”

“I don’t think we should discuss it over the phone.”

“Why not?”

“It’s about your sister.”

A part of her recoiled. “Whatever Leana has done now-”

“She was beaten, Celina.”

“Beaten?”

“Eric did it the night of the party-probably not long after you left the room. If I had known that earlier this morning, he would be in the hospital now, instead of just looking for a job.”

Things were moving too quickly. Her mind tried to grasp what her father was saying. “You fired him?”

“Of course, I fired him,” George said. “And that’s just the beginning. Now, look. I don’t want to discuss this over the phone. Can you come out to the house, or not?”

They were in George’s study. After thirty minutes of long silences and raised voices, the room had gone quiet. Celina looked from her father to her mother and then back at George. He was seated at his desk, his face flushed. Few times in her life had she seen him so upset.

George broke the silence. “If we press charges against the son of a bitch, if we bring him to court, our name and Leana’s will be dragged through every rag on the newspaper stand. And for what? So Eric can walk free because no one witnessed the beating?”

Elizabeth frowned down at him. She had just returned from a charity luncheon when George led her into his study, saying they needed to talk.

“What about our daughter?” she said. “Isn’t she witness enough?”

“It’ll be his word against Leana’s.”

“So? Leana will win. Diana Crane will see to that. She’ll put that man behind bars.”

George thought back to earlier that morning, when Diana answered Eric’s phone. He was almost certain they had been in bed together when he called. And if that was the case, if Diana was sleeping with Eric, she would hardly try her best to defend Leana against him in court.

He looked at Elizabeth and said guardedly, “I don’t think that would be possible.”

“Why not?”

“I have my reasons.”

“What reasons?”

“Reasons you don’t have to concern yourself with.”

He saw the confusion on Celina’s face and glared at his wife. He would tell her later-away from Celina. “What matters is this,” he said. “Leana would lose no matter who represented her in court. Eric Parker has lived a model life. Our daughter’s bout with cocaine was once the center of a media circus. The defense would make it a point to remind the court of that, and her word would become worthless.”

“I saw them in that room together,” Celina said. “In front of Eric, I accused Leana of setting us up. That’s got to be worth something, Dad. It’s a motive, for God’s sake.”

“What you two seem to be forgetting is this-Leana’s not talking. I’m convinced she never wanted anyone to know about this.”

“But why?” Elizabeth said. “Why couldn’t she have come to us?”

“Because she’s angry,” Celina said. “She’s angry with us, angry at life. Leana always has been.”

“I don’t understand why. We’ve given that girl everything.”

“Except love,” George said.

Elizabeth, a woman who was revered for her poise and grace, turned to George without a shred of it. “Are you saying I don’t love my daughter?”

“You love Leana as much as I do. What I’m saying is that we paid very little attention to her while she was growing up and Leana’s angry because of it.” He looked at the picture of Leana that was on his desk and noticed for the first time that it was neatly tucked behind his pictures of Celina and Elizabeth. He wondered if that’s how Leana saw herself-being neatly tucked away in a silver frame-and decided it probably was.

He looked at his wife and daughter. “Leana didn’t come to us because she doesn’t love us. I think there are two reasons. She doesn’t trust us. And I think Eric threatened her.”

“Threatened her?”

George nodded at Celina. “I’m fairly certain of it.”

Elizabeth watched her husband. It was obvious he already had made decisions concerning Eric Parker and his future. She knew his temper and right now, it frightened her. Once, many years ago, losing control of it had nearly sent him to prison.

“George,” she said firmly. “I want to know what you’re going to do.”

George met her gaze with his own. “Something I should have done this morning,” he said, and reached for the phone.

Celina wasted no time in leaving. She didn’t want to know who her father called or how it might affect Eric Parker.