Chapter 1
I was nine years old when a woman in a silver evening gown threw water in my face at a Manhattan charity gala.
The night began with my mother failing to come home.
Sarah had left our apartment that afternoon wearing the only dress she owned that did not need mending. She had washed it in the sink the night before and hung it near the radiator to dry.
“If this meeting goes well,” she told me, “things might change for us.”
She would not tell me what meeting.
She touched the necklace around my neck, a little gold locket with a blue stone shaped like a tear.
“Keep this close, Rosie.”
I always did.
By nine that evening, she had missed dinner and failed to answer the borrowed phone she used for work. Our neighbor, Mrs. Vega, had gone to her night shift. I waited another hour before searching the paper Sarah had left beside the kettle.
It had one address written across it.
The Waldorf.
I knew it was somewhere important. I did not know whether a child could walk inside and ask for her mother.
I went anyway.
Rain soaked through my shoes on the way from the subway. My coat was too big because Sarah had bought it at a church sale, saying I would grow into it. I kept one hand inside my collar, around the locket, and followed a man carrying flowers through a service entrance.
A door opened at the end of a corridor.
Beyond it, hundreds of people were eating beneath chandeliers that looked like falling stars.
I had not eaten since breakfast. The smell of warm bread made my stomach hurt.
I stepped into the ballroom, searching every face for Sarah.
A waiter saw me and stopped.
“Sweetheart, are you lost?”
“I’m looking for my mom.”
He opened his mouth to ask another question, but a woman in a silver gown moved between us.
She was older than my mother, with carefully pinned hair and a necklace that sparkled almost as brightly as the chandeliers.
I recognized her from the newspapers Sarah sometimes brought home to line our kitchen shelves.
Evelyn Whitmore.
I had seen photographs of her at charity dinners. Sarah always turned the page before I could ask about her.
“How did this child get in?” Evelyn demanded.
The waiter said, “I was just asking—”
“Please,” I interrupted. “My mom came here.”
Evelyn looked at my wet shoes and the sleeves hanging past my hands.
“This is a private event.”
“I only need to find her.”
People were watching. I could feel it without turning around.
“What is your mother’s name?” the waiter asked.
I started to answer, but Evelyn lifted the glass she was holding.
“Children are sent into places like this to take whatever they can carry,” she said.
My cheeks burned.
“I’m not stealing.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t. She said she’d come home.”
The water struck my face before I saw her move.
I stepped backward, slipped on the polished floor, and landed hard enough that my teeth clicked together.
The room went quiet.
I wiped my eyes with my sleeve. The waiter crouched beside me.
“Are you hurt?”
I shook my head, though my elbow throbbed.
As I pushed myself up, the chain around my neck caught on my coat button and broke.
The locket fell to the marble.
It spun once, twice, then stopped beside Evelyn’s shoe.
She stared at it.
I reached for it, but she bent first.
“Where did you get this?”
Her voice no longer sounded loud. It sounded frightened.
“My mother gave it to me.”
The blue stone trembled in her hand.
“This belonged to someone in my family.”
“It belongs to me.”
She opened the tiny catch at the back. I had tried to open it before and never managed to. Inside was a photograph so small that I could only make out a woman holding a baby.
Evelyn made a sound I did not understand.
“What is your mother’s name?”
“Sarah.”
She sank to her knees. Her silver dress spread across the wet marble.
“Sarah who?”
“Sarah Bennett.”
Her hand rose toward my face. I pulled back.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “May I look at you?”
I did not say yes, but I stayed still.
Her eyes settled on the birthmark below my left ear. Sarah called it my little crescent moon.
Evelyn’s eyes filled.
“Sarah’s daughter.”
I took the locket from her hand.
“You know my mom?”
“I’m her mother.”
For a moment, all I heard was the low music from the far end of the room.
Sarah had told me I had a grandmother. She had never told me where the woman lived.
Evelyn reached for me, then stopped when I flinched. She held her hands open and waited.
I was cold, hungry, and frightened for Sarah. I leaned into her because, at that moment, she was the only person in the room who might know where my mother had gone.
She wrapped her arms around me.
“My granddaughter,” she said, crying against my wet hair. “I’ve been trying to find you.”
I wanted to ask why she had thrown water at me if she was looking for me. I wanted Sarah to be there to answer.
Evelyn pulled back.
“Where is your mother, Rosie?”
“She came here today. She said she had a meeting.”
Evelyn’s face changed.
“With whom?”
“I don’t know.”
Behind her, a man dropped a spoon. It struck a plate with a sharp sound.
I turned and saw him standing near the front table. He was tall, with dark hair and the same eyes as Evelyn.
May you like
He had been smiling a moment before.
Now he was looking at my locket as though it had appeared from a locked room.
