Margaret stood there.
She had arrived without telling us.
Rose’s voice became a whisper.
“You.”
Margaret stopped.
“Rose.”
“You lied to me.”
Margaret went pale.
“I protected her.”
“No,” Rose said.
“You protected Harold.”
I looked between them.
“What is she talking about?”
Margaret said nothing.
Rose suddenly laughed.
A terrible, broken sound.
“You still haven’t told her.”
“Rose.”
“You still haven’t told her who Thomas Vale became.”
Margaret gripped the back of a chair.
My heart pounded.
“Who?”
Rose pointed at Margaret.
“Ask her husband.”
I froze.
“Harold?”
Rose’s eyes burned.
“Thomas Vale was
Harold Whitaker.”
The room exploded into silence.
I stared at Margaret.
She did not deny it.
My knees nearly gave out.
“No.”
Margaret began to cry.
I had seen her cry once over Harold’s wedding ring.
Nothing like this.
“His full name,” she whispered, “was Harold Thomas Vale Whitaker.”
