10
JUDGE
Agloom different from the one of the last weeks settles over the house once Mercedes is gone. The staff is quieter than before, tiptoeing around me. Santiago’s curse seeps into every aspect of my existence, snuffing out any light, any air.
And I deserve it.
Over the next week, Lois packs Mercedes’s things. Santiago sends a driver to pick them up. I hope for some news of her, but the driver, a stranger to me, doesn’t say a word to any of us. Simply loads the van with her things and is gone.
It’s in the second week that I receive word from an unlikely ally. Ivy.
She is safe. She’ll be alright.
I read it three times and finally breathe a sigh of relief. I sit on the edge of her bed. It’s been stripped, the room empty of any evidence of her ever having been here. I realize now that it’s gone how the delicate scent of her perfume hung in the air here. I’ve moved her soaps and lotions into my bathroom in a strange effort to keep her close. To keep some part of her.
I consider my reply. I have questions, but it’s not appropriate. I know that. I had the chance to take responsibility properly. I had many opportunities to make her mine in the correct way. And I know Santiago would have welcomed the union of our families. I have always known that. But I made a choice just as she did when she decided not to swallow that pill. And so, I type out a simple thank you, tuck the phone into my pocket, and stand.
The door opens then, and Lois peers inside. “There you are.”
I look at her. She smiles her best smile. “Everything alright?”
She nods. “When the girl brought down the sheets, I found something that must have gotten mixed up in it. I thought you’d want to have it.” She walks toward me as she takes an envelope out of her apron pocket. “I guess it was in her pillowcase or perhaps under the sheet.”
I take the envelope, oddly grateful for the find, and I know she’s looked inside from the expression on her face.
“Thank you, Lois.”
“Will you take breakfast in your study again?”
“No, thank you. I’m going to head into the office early.” I had cleared my calendar while my face healed enough that it wouldn’t raise eyebrows. It wouldn’t do for a judge to sit on the dais looking very clearly beaten.
“Alright.”
“Lois,” I say before leaving the room. “Has my mother been in touch?” My mother. Only one person had access and the ill intent to send that bloody sheet Santiago received in its glass and brass box.
“Nothing yet, sir. Paolo is keeping an eye on her cottage, but she seems to be away.”
“Thank you.”
I tuck the envelope into my breast pocket and hurry down the stairs and to my study to pick up my briefcase. I won’t let myself look at the contents until I’m at the office because this strange surge of excitement must be quelled.
All evidence of that day has been cleared in my study, too, except for missing, broken furniture that will need to be replaced and the spot on my grandfather’s portrait where the glass box struck. I could have it repaired, but I find I don’t want to. So instead, the portrait stands against the wall wrapped in brown paper. A few days ago, I decided that I’ll move it to the punishment room.
I pick up the papers I need and tuck them into my briefcase. On the desktop, I glance at Mercedes’s phones. Her old one, which I keep charged and on in case Vincent Douglas texts again, and the one I’d given her. Nothing has come through on either. I leave them there and head through the house and out the front door, where Raul stands beside the Rolls Royce ready to take me into the office. He greets me as usual and opens the door. The staff knows what happened. Gossip like this is too juicy to stay quiet. But they are discreet enough.
The envelope burns a hole in my pocket throughout the drive, and as soon as I’m ensconced behind my desk, I take it out. It’s unsealed, so I flip the flap open and reach inside. When I see what it contains, my breath catches.
She must have been to a doctor. I’m holding images from a sonogram. When did she do that? I see the date in the top right corner. Of course, the time she was at Madame Dubois’s house. Her friends probably arranged for it.
But I don’t care about that. Because what I see here makes me realize she didn’t tell me everything. Probably didn’t dare to and I can’t blame her if I think of my behavior since I found out. I must have terrified her.
My throat goes dry as I look at image after image. There must be a dozen.
Mercedes isn’t pregnant with my child. She’s pregnant with my children. Twins.
A strange rush of emotion courses through me at the sight of them. I spread them out across my desk and study them in disbelief. Twins. My father had a twin. He passed away before he turned one. I can’t tell if they’re boys or girls or one of each, but what I’m feeling is something I’ve never felt before. There’s a foreign undercurrent to the despair that has settled over me. An almost joy beneath it all at this scene laid out before me.
Children.
My children.
A thing I never thought I would have.
I don’t know how long I sit there, but the buzzing of my phone startles me back to reality. I push the button. “Yes, Meredith?”
“Sir, someone’s here to see you. He says he’s your brother?”
Theron?
“He doesn’t have an appointment…” she rambles on, but I don’t hear it. Theron is here? I guess he got tired of waiting for me to come to him.
“Send him in.”
“Right away, sir.”