Chapter 1 - The ring on his hand
My name is Katie Hayes.
I was nine years old when my mother died.
For years afterward, people remembered the funeral because I slapped my stepfather in front of an open coffin.
That is not the part I remember most.
I remember his fist closing.
The second I asked about the ring, Robert curled his fingers into his palm as though he could make it disappear.
He could not.
I had seen it before.
Three days before Mom died, she had come home from the hospital carrying her brown leather purse.
She looked exhausted.
She went directly into her bedroom.
I followed because I was nine and had not yet learned that adults believe closed doors apply to children.
Mom took something from her coat pocket.
A delicate gold ring.
Not hers.
Not mine.
Robert’s.
He had worn it constantly for years.
Then suddenly, a month earlier, he stopped.
When I asked why, he said:
“Lost it.”
But Mom held that supposedly lost ring in her hand.
She stared at it.
Then slid it into the inner zipper of her purse.
“Mom?”
She jumped.
I had never seen my mother frightened by my voice before.
“Katie.”
“Is that Robert’s?”
She crouched.
“Don’t touch my purse, sweetheart.”
“Why?”
“Because I need to show something to someone.”
“Who?”
She hesitated.
“A lawyer.”
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Three days later, she was dead.
And at her funeral, Robert was wearing the ring.
