Chester had long since lost count of how many times he’d set foot in the hospital ‘lately.
“The back of your wife’s head hit the ground. She was lucky–shards of glass scraped across her eyelid. If they’d cut just a little deeper, she’d have lost her left eye entirely.”
A doctor stood in the hallway, explaining Celestine’s injuries to Chester.
Chester’s eyes were dark, his face unreadable.
Celestine’s eyes had always been her most striking feature–captivating without being garish, sometimes sparkling with innocence, the kind of gaze you never quite forgot.
And now, that foolish woman had risked everything for a painting.
Was it worth it?
When Joanna finished filming that afternoon, she heard the news about Celestine’s accident.
Celia and Raymond had come to her, holding hands and close to tears, finally confessing the real reason their mother had lost consciousness.
When Joanna heard the full story, she could barely keep the delight off her face.
Oh, Celestine, she thought, what a pair of children you’ve raised.
Putting on her best strict–adult face, Joanna said, “Celia, Ray, I can’t cover for your
I this time. What you did was wrong–there’s no way around it.”
Celia buried her face in Joanna’s arms, sobbing. “Miss Sinclair, we didn’t mean for this to happen! We just knew how much you loved that painting, so we tried to stop Mom from taking it… we didn’t know it’d turn out like this…”
Joanna’s expression flickered briefly with irritation, but mostly she felt relief. Idiots, she thought–they nearly dragged me down with them.
She’d clawed her way up to where she was now and wasn’t about to let anything
ruin it.
“Don’t be scared. Listen to me–go back to Portside and find your great–grandfather,” Joanna whispered, gently steering the two children toward a
solution.
21:14 0
Celestine lay unconscious for three days and nights.
When she finally opened her eyes, the harsh glare of the overhead lights made her squint.
A ring of people stood around her bed–men, women, young and old.
At their head was Alistair, hair white as snow, dressed in a navy suit. In his sixties, he still had a commanding presence, his gaze sharp and clear.
When he saw her awake, his stern face softened.
“Celly, you’re awake?” he said, striding over.
Suddenly, everyone crowded in.
“She’s awake!”
“How do you feel? Are you alright? Someone get the doctor!”
“Celly, you have no idea how worried we’ve all been these past few days.”
The hospital room erupted in a chorus of anxious voices.
Celestine’s throat was dry, her head aching worse with every word. She couldn’t find the strength to speak.
Dahlia, her tone dripping with sarcasm, muttered, “That’s what you get for ignoring Raymond. Well, you’re awake now, so I guess that’s that.”
Alistair shot her a sharp look. “Dahlia, one more word and you’ll regret it.”
“Dad!” Dahlia protested, clearly annoyed. What had she said wrong?
But Alistair’s stern glare silenced her.
Meanwhile, Celia and Raymond stepped quietly up to the bed.
Celia twisted her fingers together. “Mom, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it.”
Raymond’s head dropped, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Mom.”
Celestine’s eyes were calm, betraying nothing.
Alistair sighed. “Celly, I know you feel wronged. The kids made a mistake–they shouldn’t have stood by and let you take the painting alone, let alone try to dodge
the blame.”
“This time, they came to me themselves and admitted everything. They even went
Chapter 38
to church to pray for you, hoping you’d wake up soon. No matter what, you’re still their mother–family’s family. You’re awake now, so let’s put this behind us, alright?”
Pete, standing nearby, clearly wasn’t having it.
“Alistair, you say that like it’s nothing. Are you telling me the Fordhams can’t even afford a decent chair? My sister steps on it twice and it collapses?”
Pete had gotten the call about Celestine’s accident early that morning.
He refused to believe she’d be so careless, especially when she was retrieving the painting their grandfather had given her. Knowing Celestine, she’d have been extra
cautious.
Something about this whole incident smelled off.
But before he could confront the Fordhams himself, Alistair had already come down from Portside, bringing the kids with him–and, as it turned out, handing Murdock a check on the way.
