I understood immediately.
“If we leave now…”
“We can get there before dinner.”
I packed one suitcase for myself.
One for Lily.
One for Leo.
Leo watched me load them into the SUV.
“Where are we going?”
I looked at him.
“We’re going to the beach.”
His eyebrows lifted.
“And you’re finally going to meet the grandmother who has been asking to see you for years.”
Lily appeared behind him holding something in her hand.
The pink shovel.
She had found it in her closet.
We arrived at the Hilton Head estate at 7:30 that evening.
The oceanfront house glowed beneath warm lights.
Through the enormous dining-room windows, I could see the entire Vance family gathered around a long table.
Julian sat among them.
Laughing.
Relaxed.
Completely unaware that the story he had maintained for eleven years was about to collapse.
I walked up the front steps with Darcy beside me and the children close behind.
The cedar box was in my arms.
The front doors were unlocked.
I walked inside.
The laughter stopped almost immediately.
Julian turned around with a wineglass in his hand.
The moment he saw me, his expression changed.
Then he noticed Lily.
Leo.
And finally, the cedar box.
“Sloan?”
He stood quickly.
“What are you doing here?”
Before I could answer, Eleanor rose from the head of the table.
Her eyes filled with tears the moment she saw the children.
“Sloan?”
She stepped forward slowly.
“You came?”
Then she looked at Lily and Leo.
“You finally brought them?”
Julian immediately moved between us.
“Mom, wait.”
Then he turned toward me.
“Sloan, we should talk outside.”
“No.”
His face tightened.
“This isn’t the place.”
“It’s exactly the place.”
I walked around him and set the cedar box in front of Eleanor.
She stared at it.
Then at me.
“Eleanor,” I said, “I need you to hear something before Julian interrupts again.”
The entire room was silent.
“I never refused a single invitation from you.”
Her expression changed.
“I never kept Lily or Leo away from you.”
Julian stepped forward.
“Sloan—”
I continued.
“For eleven years, Julian told us you didn’t want us here. He said this gathering was only for his ‘real family.’ He told the children that bringing spouses and grandchildren would ruin the tradition.”
Someone at the table gasped.
Eleanor stared at Julian.
I opened the cedar box.
“These are your invitations.”
She reached inside.
Her own handwriting stared back at her.
Envelope after envelope.
Most of them still sealed.
Her hands began to tremble.
“I wrote these.”
“I know.”
She looked at me.
