Chapter 10 - The Unbroken Record
At two o'clock in the morning, the last black sedan had driven down the long driveway toward the coastal highway.
The ballroom was empty, the candles extinguished, the fragrance of red roses lingering in the cool, dark air.
Sadie sat on the wide window seat in the drawing room, her dark silk dress spread out around her like a pool of ink, her bare feet tucked under her hem.
Her loafers were sitting on the rug three feet away.
Julian walked into the room carrying two heavy glass tumblers filled with ice and ginger ale. He wore no jacket, his black tie unbuttoned and hanging loose around his white collar, his sleeves pushed up to his forearms.
He handed a glass to her and sat down on the window seat beside her, his long legs stretching across the dark floorboards.
"Vance was sentenced today," Julian said quietly, his voice blending with the distant sound of the surf against the rocks. "Twelve years at Cedar Junction. Doyle got twenty."
Sadie took a slow sip of her drink, the ice clicking against the crystal. "Do you feel better?"
Julian looked out the window at the dark expanse of the bay.
"I feel," he said softly, turning his head to look at her face, "that my father’s ticket has finally reached the station."
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, framed object.
It was no larger than a postcard.
Inside the simple black frame sat the yellowed train ticket from August 14, 2003—Boston to Portland, four dollars and fifty cents—beside the small white card he had written on her first morning:
Next time, choose the oxfords; they have better movement.
Sadie looked at the frame. She reached out, her fingers skittering softly across the glass.
"Where are you going to put it?" she asked.
Julian stood up. He walked over to the mantelpiece—the same mantelpiece where the ticket had sat for twenty-three years in silence.
He placed the frame in the center, right between the two brass fire dogs.
Then he walked over to the Garrard turntable, lifted the small wooden arm, and set the needle down into the groove of an old jazz record.
The soft, warm hiss of the vinyl filled the quiet room.
Julian walked back to the window seat. He stood before her, holding out his broad, hand with its silver signet ring, his gray eyes shining with that dark, incredible light that had changed her life forever.
"No shirts tonight?" Sadie teased, looking up at him with a crooked smile.
"Only mine," Julian whispered, his hands reaching down to lift her off the window seat, bringing her body tight against his chest until she could feel every beat of his heart through his white linen.
"And Sadie?" he murmured into her hair as they began to move slowly across the polished oak floor in the dark.
"Yes, Julian?"
May you like
"The cameras are still on," he whispered softly into her ear.
Sadie laughed—a sweet, clear sound that carried out through the open windows into the cool Massachusetts night—and threw her arms around his neck, spinning him around the center of the room while the record played on into the quiet dawn.
