Czytaj książkę: «A Little Secret between Friends»
Sally’s first instinct was to drive away
But Colin was already walking toward her car. He had on jeans and an old—a very old—University of Alberta sweatshirt. She’d probably seen him in that sweatshirt a hundred times.
Including, if memory served her correctly, that one, fateful night over sixteen years ago…
When Colin was close enough to touch her car, she lowered the passenger-side window.
For a moment they just looked at each other, and in his eyes she recognized the sorrow that she’d been feeling.
She also saw that he was concerned about her. But there was something else she couldn’t name. It was like a spark, alive and glowing. And it reminded her that despite how she felt at times, she was a woman with half her life still in front of her.
Dear Reader,
A difficult moral dilemma is at the heart of many stories I write. This story is no different.
Imagine you are a student in your last year of university. There’s this guy who has been in many of your classes…and something about him really gets to you. He’s good-looking, charming and way too smart for his own good. You keep wanting to show him up. Then one night you’re at the library late at night together and he offers you a ride home. Sparks fly, and before you know it, this guy you thought you couldn’t stand is someone you just can’t resist.
The next morning you check in with your roommate and best friend. Before you can tell her what happened last night, she tells you about this guy she really likes—and it’s your guy!
Do you tell her to back off? Or do you leave the field clear for your friend?
In the story you're about to read, Sally Stowe faced just this situation. Sally decided to date someone else and leave the guy for her friend…and the repercussions of that decision still live with her—and her daughter—sixteen years later.
I hope you enjoy this story. If you would like to write or send e-mail, I would be delighted to hear from you through my Web site at www.cjcarmichael.com. Or send mail to the following Canadian address: #1754-246 Stewart Green S.W., Calgary, Alberta, T3H 3C8, Canada.
Sincerely,
C.J. Carmichael
A Little Secret Between Friends
C.J. Carmichael
For sharing her knowledge of family law
and the challenges of juggling a career with motherhood,
I thank Sandra J. Hildebrand, barrister and solicitor.
Thanks also to Joe Nolan, retired RCMP officer,
and Terry Evenson, Executive Director of the Canadian
Bar Association of Alberta (and also a lovely aunt!).
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER ONE
“BE CAREFUL with that knife, Sal. You wouldn’t want to hurt yourself.”
Sally Stowe froze. The unexpected sound of her ex-husband’s voice had a similar effect to a steel blade running lightly down her spine.
Keeping her back to him, she resumed chopping the red pepper with precise, measured slices. She took a beat to catch her breath, then said coolly, “We have this custom in North America, Neil. It’s called knocking before you enter a home that isn’t your own.”
Though her exterior was unruffled—she hoped!—her mind raced. Why was Neil here? He knew Lara was on a birthday sleepover party tonight. Sally had learned long ago to get his permission for every single thing Lara did. If she so much as booked a dentist appointment without his approval, Neil would turn ballistic.
“The door was unlocked.”
As if that were an excuse. Still, it was a good reminder to be more careful. Sally crouched to reassure the six-month-old puppy whining anxiously at her feet—the cause of the unlocked door. He needed to go out so often she’d become lazy with the dead bolt, which would only engage if you aligned the door just shy of fully closed.
“It’s okay, Armani.” She gave the mutt a scratch behind his ears, then patted him on the side gently.
Strangers—and Neil—made the poor thing nervous.
In his most scornful voice, Neil said, “Armani? Who calls a dog after a fashion designer, for God’s sake?”
Still avoiding eye contact with him, Sally did her best to answer calmly. “Your daughter.” And he, of all people, ought to know why. He was the one who had fostered Lara’s taste for expensive, designer clothing—although even Neil drew the line at Armani, fortunately.
“Well, the dog’s black, at least.”
Yes. And with the patch of white on his chest, he looked a little like he was wearing a tux. But Sally didn’t share that piece of trivia with Neil. She shared nothing with her ex-husband that wasn’t required in their joint-custody agreement.
An agreement that she, as a lawyer, understood inside and out. Neil, also a lawyer, knew the agreement equally well, since he had drafted it.
As Sally went to the sink to rinse her hands, she glanced out the window at the thawing April landscape. The grass was still brown, but there would be pussy willows soon. Chunks of ice were breaking up in the river that bordered the western edge of her property.
She’d moved here, to the Elbow Valley community on the outskirts of Calgary, two years ago when Lara had turned fourteen. Sally was determined to keep her young teenager away from the influences of shopping malls, corner stores and video arcades, where Sally knew trouble could be found as easily as a super-size Slurpee.
Their stone-faced bungalow was one of the smaller homes in the estate neighborhood, but it sat on a full acre of land, backing onto the Elbow River. Sally reveled in the fact that they weren’t even considered part of the city of Calgary, though she was only a twenty-five minute commute from the office.
The country setting was perfect, but the isolation did make her nervous at times, which was why she’d finally given in to Lara’s desire for a dog. Hopefully one day Armani would develop some guarding instincts. The woman at the animal shelter had been sure he was mostly border collie, a breed known to be both protective and gentle with children.
Sally turned off the water and moved to the stove, situated on the island at the center of the kitchen. She unhooked the wok from the overhead rack and settled it on the front burner. After twisting the knob to high heat, she finally lifted her head to acknowledge Neil’s presence.
Her ex-husband still stood near the door. The family room lay to his left, the kitchen to the right. “Are you going to invite me in, Sal? Looks like you have enough food for two.”
He was right about the food. Out of habit she’d prepared enough for Lara, as well, even though her daughter was out. But if she had food for twenty, she’d never invite Neil to her table.
“What do you want? Did you forget Lara is sleeping over at Jessica’s tonight?”
“Can’t a man stop by for a friendly visit with his ex-wife?” Neil smiled, managing to look boyishly attractive, even though, like her, he’d passed forty.
He was a debonair man, her ex-husband. Medium height, slender, he wore a suit really well. His hair was dark and thick, and the lingering trace of his English accent added to his misleading appeal.
“But actually, I’ve brought over Lara’s passport application papers for you to sign.” He placed them, plus his silver pen, the one she’d given him for Christmas on Lara’s behalf, on the island.
Sally leaned over and pulled the documents closer. Neil’s father, who had worked in investment banking, had brought his family to Canada for the two years he’d been stationed to work in Calgary. When the upper executive had had a massive heart attack and died, Neil’s mother had returned to Kent. Neil, who’d been accepted to law school at the University of Alberta, had remained.
This summer Neil planned to take Lara to visit his mother. Sally hated the idea of their daughter making an overseas trip without her, but she couldn’t deny Lara the chance to get to know her one surviving grandparent.
She executed the distinctive loop at the end of Stowe, then dropped the pen. “There.”
Neil folded the pages and stuffed them into the breast pocket of his jacket. “I see you’ve poured yourself a glass of wine. Drinking alone, Sal?”
The open bottle sat on the counter behind her, next to the cutting board with the diced chicken, peppers and onions. But Sally ignored both it and Neil’s question. She’d given him what he wanted. It was time for him to leave. To her dismay, though, he sidled along the island. Moving closer.
“Come on, Sal. Let’s drink a toast to your good news. What?” One eyebrow arched in casual question. “You didn’t think I knew that my ex-wife is the front-runner to replace Judge Kendal on the bench?”
Oh, no, he’d heard the rumors. She should have guessed he would have. And that he’d be quick to react. Her professional accomplishments always triggered Neil’s worst displays of temper. Too late she wished she’d lied about dinner and said she was expecting company. Neil would never buy the story now. Especially since she’d set only one plate at the counter. Taken down just the single wineglass.
Maybe she could improvise…
“Neil, you really need to be going. I have to eat quickly. My book club is meeting here at seven.” That was only half an hour from now. And a smart man like Neil would factor in the possibility that someone might arrive early…
“Sal.” He gave her a disappointed smile. “Don’t you think I know you meet with your book club on the second Friday of every month? Not the third.”
“We had to change for April,” she said, doing her best to speak slowly. “Because of spring break.”
“I don’t think so. You always were a lousy liar. But that’s probably a good thing. Judges shouldn’t lie, should they, Sal?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself, Neil. Willa isn’t retiring for another two months. And I’m sure there are other worthy candidates for the position.” Sally couldn’t be sure she would get the appointment until she had the official call from the federal justice minister.
“Who do you think you’re fooling with that bogus humility? Not me, I assure you.”
He had that smile on his face now. Beth had called it the ice-man smile. He used it in court occasionally when he was moving in for the kill on a vulnerable witness. But to Sally the ice-man smile never seemed as cruel, as ruthless, as when she felt it directed at herself.
“Whatever, Neil.”
“Justice Stowe. Sounds very distinguished, doesn’t it?”
“Neil—”
“Long-term board member of that stupid battered women’s shelter. Past president of the law society. The volunteer hours in dispute resolutions. Looks like all your goody-goody work is actually paying off.”
With each word, Sally could sense his anger building. There was no avoiding a full-scale argument now, she knew from experience. Any word, any movement, even a facial twitch on her part could set him off. Might as well get it over with, she decided.
“That’s right. It’s all paying off. With any luck, in two months I’m going to be appointed to the bench. Is that why you dropped by tonight—to offer your congratulations?”
The changes that fell over his face were utterly predictable. First his eyebrows lowered into a frown. His smile tightened. His eyes narrowed.
He moved again, rounding the island and then cornering her against the counter.
“Congratulations?” He spit out the word. “You think you deserve a pat on the back for reneging on your real job—raising our child and being a good wife?”
“I’m not your wife anymore.”
“To me you are. I may have signed those papers….”
He’d had to sign them. She’d known him well enough to serve them when he was at work, in a meeting. He couldn’t pretend to his colleagues that nothing was amiss. So he’d pretended, instead, that the divorce was his idea. She didn’t care about that. All she’d wanted was to finally be legally free of the man.
Except she wasn’t free. Would never be free. Not as long as they shared custody of Lara. Neil had their daughter alternate weekends and every Wednesday evening. He’d pick her up from dry-land training at Canada Olympic Park, take her out for dinner, then bring her home around nine.
“To me, you’ll always be mine. You’re still sexy, Sal. In some ways even more than when you were in your twenties. What do you say, babe? Maybe we should celebrate your good news in bed.”
She couldn’t stop herself from cringing. The memories of times in their marriage when she’d made love with him in order to avoid a fight came back in a rush of shame. Why had she married so quickly? So thoughtlessly?
With hindsight, none of her reasons seemed compelling enough to warrant landing herself with Neil Anderson for the rest of her life.
“Don’t look at me that way. I remember when you couldn’t get enough in the sack. But now that you’re about to become a judge, you’re too good for me. Is that it, Sal?”
He’d moved to within touching distance. Armani started whining again.
“Get out of my face, Neil. You may be scaring the dog, but you’re not scaring me. Those days are long over.”
He could scream and yell and rant at her as long as he liked. She didn’t care. As long as he was mad about something that didn’t affect Lara, it simply didn’t matter.
That’s what Sally told herself, but her body refused to take the presence of an angry, hulking man in her kitchen quite so lightly. She could feel all the old warning signs. Racing heart, damp palms, shallow breathing. She forced herself to fill her lungs with air and release it slowly.
Neil watched her face with the fascination of a scientist observing slides under a microscope. “You’re a coldhearted bitch. You’ve been judging men for years. Now you’ll get to do it in court. Break their balls and send them to jail for as long as the law allows. God help the slobs who look for mercy from you.”
Sally didn’t listen to the words. She was used to Neil’s diatribes. He had several favorite themes, from her dearth of maternal instincts for their daughter, to her hatred of men in general, and him in particular. She was frigid, a bitch, and worse…
At some point he’d start swearing and then he’d throw something, maybe punch a wall, and leave.
But tonight he was frighteningly calm and still.
And close.
He was a fanatically clean man, but he could not hide his own essence beneath the scent of his soap, his aftershave, his mouthwash. That essence, as familiar to her as his every expression, made her ill.
Yet, she refused to back away. She lifted her gaze and stared him straight in the eyes, not caring if he saw the contempt she felt in her heart.
“You always thought you were too good for me, Sal, didn’t you? Right from the beginning.”
Though his words were uttered quietly, his jaw was tight. She saw a sheen of moisture on his brow, noticed his fist clench at his side.
“Get out of my house, Neil.”
“Your house? YOUR house?”
His eyes glazed over and Sally knew this was it. He was gone. If any sliver of logic could have reached him before, now it was no longer possible. She watched him lift his hand. The wine bottle was nearby. She knew the way he thought, the way he operated. He was going to break the bottle, hurl it onto the tile flooring, or worse, throw it across the room.
Red wine was going to be spilled all over her beautiful, spanking-new kitchen…
But Neil’s hand didn’t stop at the bottle. It kept moving and just a split second before she went flying, she realized the hand was headed for her.
He pushed her violently, letting loose a barrage of cursing at the same time.
“No!” Feeling herself lose her balance, Sally threw out her arms. One hand glanced off the wok, the smoking, hot wok.
She hollered in pain, and then he shoved her again, harder this time. She felt her legs fly out from under her. On the way down her head glanced off the edge of the granite counter with a thud.
For a second all was numb. Then sensation returned in an explosion of pain.
Oh, God!
She landed on the floor, on the cold, hard tile and couldn’t stop herself from moaning. Her head vibrated with waves of pain. She couldn’t believe she was still conscious. She put a hand to the spot and felt the warm stickiness of blood.
“Neil…” she moaned. Phone the ambulance, she wanted to say, but she couldn’t get out the words. Oh, my head, my head. Help me, Neil. Surely you didn’t mean to do this.
“You always were clumsy in the kitchen, Sal.”
She couldn’t see him, but she felt his breath in her ear as he spoke the words. He must be crouching on the floor beside her. Sally tried to open her eyes, but all she saw was darkness. White dots of light.
“You’re never going to be a judge, you bitch. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be lucky if you aren’t disbarred.”
She heard his pants rustle as he stood and she had a sudden fear of being kicked. She was so vulnerable here on the floor, writhing at his feet. She forced herself to be still, to stop the moaning. No matter that she could hardly breathe for the throbbing in her head. She couldn’t let him see her broken.
Seconds ticked by. She waited for his next move. A kick? A punch? Would he throw something at her?
And then she heard his hard-soled shoes clapping on the Mediterranean tile floor. The sound receded, then stopped. The back door opened, slammed shut.
He was gone. Thank goodness he was gone.
She curled her legs up toward her chest and tried to lift her head. No. Impossible.
Armani’s paws clacked against the tile as he came to check her out. She felt his soft, warm tongue on her hand.
“Good boy,” she tried to whisper.
Blackness. Pain. The smell of blood.
Have to get up. But she couldn’t. Armani continued to whine, to nudge her hand with his nose.
Ow. Her burned hand hurt. Everything hurt. Need help.
Beth.
With her uninjured hand, she pulled out the cell phone clipped to her waist. Her thumb passed over the buttons, pressing a familiar speed-dial number by rote.
Her fingers were slick with blood, her movements uncoordinated. The phone slipped to the floor near her head. The house was so quiet, she could hear the rings. One. Two. Three.
Someone answered. It was a man’s voice. That was wrong. She didn’t want a man.
Beth. She tried to speak, but didn’t know if any sound came out. Help me, Beth.
Then all went dark.
CHAPTER TWO
CROWN PROSECUTOR Colin Foster was home watching the hockey game when the phone rang. He’d boiled himself some bacon-and-onion perogies for dinner, and a plate smeared with sour cream sat on his footstool next to a half-empty beer.
The Flames had made the playoffs and were into overtime with the Canucks to tie the series. He didn’t want to answer the damn call, but when he leaned over and saw the name on display, his priorities took a sudden shift.
Sally Stowe. Why was she phoning? He couldn’t think of a single reason. But there were plenty why she wouldn’t.
He hit mute on the remote control. His study went bizarrely silent as the action continued on the bigscreen TV. Leaning forward in his leather chair, he pressed the talk button.
“Hello?”
Nothing. Then some muffled, indistinguishable noises.
“Sally, is that you?” Was that a sob? “Are you all right?”
More muffled noises, barely discernible as words. And then one word, very faintly. “Beth.”
“Sally?” Why was she asking for his wife? What was going on?
But there was only silence from the line.
Colin waited for several seconds, maybe even a whole minute. When nothing else happened, he finally hung up and tried to think of explanations. Sally had been his wife’s best friend. In the past she would phone here all the time.
But not at all for the past six months.
Had she dialed the number by mistake? He could see that happening, easily enough. But Sally would have apologized as soon as she’d realized her error.
And what about those background noises? And that soft cry of “Beth…”
Something must be wrong. Sally’s place wasn’t far. He’d better drive over and make sure she and Lara were all right.
Colin turned off the TV, then grabbed Beth’s key chain from the hall. He was pretty sure his wife had kept a spare for Sally’s house. They used to water plants and bring in mail when either one went on a trip without the other.
Best friends. Yes, they’d been best friends all right. For as long as he’d known them, they’d been closer than sisters. They celebrated birthdays together, went on annual girl-holidays and dyed each other’s hair. They’d even decided to move into the same neighborhood so they would be close to each other.
Colin hadn’t minded. He was happy with the Elbow Valley home he and Beth had selected. And the community, with its network of biking trails, connected green spaces, and a frozen pond for skating in the winter, would have been a perfect place to raise kids.
If he and Beth had only managed to have them.
Colin went through the laundry room to the three-car garage, hitting the power button for the door opener on his way to the SUV.
As he passed the Miata convertible Beth had loved so much, he felt a twinge of guilt. There was so much he’d let slide this last while. He knew the registration on the Miata was expired, and so was the insurance, probably. Beth’s clothes were still in her closet, her mail unopened. Hell, he was pretty sure there was a container of her yogurt in the back of the fridge. Probably more mold than yogurt by now.
He had to start dealing with all this. Pull together the pieces that were left of his life. As he backed his vehicle out of the garage, Colin made a promise to himself. He was going to make a list and get busy.
Soon. Very soon.
Not tonight, but tomorrow for sure. First he had to find out why Sally Stowe was calling a woman who had been dead for six months.
SALLY WASN’T SURE how long she’d lain on the floor—fifteen minutes? Maybe twenty?—when she heard knocking at the front door.
Not Neil, was her first coherent thought. He would have just barged in.
So then, who? She wasn’t expecting anyone. Maybe a canvasser or something.
She tried to sit up, then moaned. Her head hurt so much, she must have a concussion. But her injuries couldn’t be too serious. She was conscious and her mind was working all right. Wasn’t it? Let’s see, she was Sally Stowe and today was April the twenty-third and the capital of Alberta was… Edmonton.
Yes, she was fine, she was absolutely fine. If only she could pick herself up from the floor.
There was another knock, this one at the kitchen door. For a second she panicked. Maybe it was Neil, checking if she was alive.
Or making sure she wasn’t…
Armani whined, and she put a reassuring hand on his back. She wished someone could do the same for her. Neil had never been physically violent before. She didn’t know what to make of it.
The door opened. A voice called out, “Sally? Are you home?”
Not Neil. Relief was quickly replaced by a different kind of alarm. What was Colin Foster doing here? The island blocked him from her view and it worked vice versa, as well. If she kept quiet, maybe he would leave. She certainly didn’t want him to see her this way.
On the hand, she could use some help.
In the end, the decision wasn’t Sally’s to make. Colin entered the kitchen. He must have seen the blue flame on the stove, because he came rushing around the island and almost tripped over her.
“Oh my God, Sally! What happened to you?”
He crouched beside her, as Neil had done, only this time she felt no fear. Armani seemed to sense his presence was benign, as well. He stopped whining and lay down at Sally’s side.
“My head,” she said, barely finding the strength to speak. “My hand.” She lifted it slightly.
“You burned yourself.” Colin reached to the stove and switched off the burner. “Badly. And you’ve hit your head. It’s still bleeding.”
He opened drawers until he found the clean tea towels. Taking several, he made a compress and applied it to her wound. He tied one of the towels completely around her head to hold the others in place.
Then he found a bowl, filled it with cold water and immersed her burned hand. The relief from pain was instantaneous.
“Talk to me, Sally. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. My name is Sally Elizabeth Stowe and it’s Friday the twenty-third.”
He looked taken aback at first, and then he smiled. “Well, your mind is working all right. But then it always has.”
This, coming from a man who had spent the past decade and a half debating almost everything she said, was a compliment, Sally knew.
“What a lot of blood.”
His face was awfully white, Sally noticed. He’d aged since Beth’s death, but not unattractively. A little gray sprinkled in with the chestnut-brown. A few more lines spreading out from the corners of his alert, probing eyes.
“Head injuries always bleed profusely, Colin.” She remembered Lara, when she was two, splitting her head open on the stone hearth of their first rental home, and the amazing amount of blood she’d lost in a relatively short time. Sally had hit the panic button then, but at Emergency Lara had received three stitches and been pronounced fine.
On the drive home, Neil had bitterly castigated Sally for her carelessness, conveniently forgetting that she had asked him to keep an eye on Lara while she folded the laundry.
That had been the last in a series of arguments that had convinced her she could not spend a lifetime with the man she’d married so rashly. She’d moved out the next week. Drawn up a separation agreement that Neil had never signed…
“Must have been a hell of a fall, Sally. Did you burn your hand, then lose your balance?”
She closed her eyes, remembering the vile sneer on Neil’s face just before he’d given her that second shove. The ice-man smile.
She doubted if any of Neil’s colleagues would believe that the polished, urbane man who was one of the city’s most accomplished criminal lawyers had this darker side.
Besides, even if Colin did believe her, she wasn’t sure she wanted him to know.
“That must be what happened. It’s all kind of blurry right now.”
Blurry was the right word. Her vision still wasn’t quite right. And her understanding of the situation was equally out of focus. Neil had lost his temper hundreds of times before, but he’d never laid a hand on her before. What was so different this time? Did he resent her possible judicial appointment that much?
“You look like you’re in a lot of pain.”
“I’m actually starting to feel a little better.”
“You’ll need stitches for that cut, I’m guessing.”
He was probably right.
“Should I call an ambulance?”
“I’m not that badly off. But maybe you could drop me at the Rockyview Emergency? Unless you have plans?”
Colin’s laugh was bitter. “I never have plans these days. Not that it would matter if I did. Come on, sweetheart, we’ve got to get you up off that floor.”
He started to put his arms under her then paused.
“You smell good,” she murmured.
“What?”
She couldn’t believe she’d said that. It was just the contrast from Neil, she supposed. “Don’t mind me. I’m delirious.”
“Before I move you I’d better make sure you don’t have any other injuries. Back? Neck?”
“Fine. Nothing hurts but my head and my hand.” And those were enough. “You know, a few painkillers would go down real nice about now.”
“Let’s get you up, first. Here goes.” Colin put his arms under her back, helping her to a sitting position. “Okay?”
“A little dizzy,” she admitted.
“Think you can make it to the car?”
“But all this blood will stain your seats.” There was a pool of the stuff in the kitchen. It was on her shirt and Colin’s socks. He must have removed his shoes at the door.
“I’ll take care of it,” Colin promised. “What about the dog?”
“Could you put him in the laundry room, please?”
Colin pulled off his socks so he wouldn’t track blood all over her house, then settled the dog. Next he grabbed a throw blanket from the family room and wrapped it around her shoulders. As gently as possible, he helped her up. Slowly they crossed to the back door where he slipped his shoes back onto his feet, then swung her up into his arms and carried her out to his car.
The round trip to the emergency room took under four hours, which wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Colin stuck with her the whole time, except when she was in the examining room.
“How many stitches?” he asked on the drive home.
She fingered the raw spot on the side of her head. “Four. You know, I’ve never had stitches before. If you don’t count childbirth.”
“Why would you…?” Colin began to ask. Then, “Oh…” as he figured the answer out on his own. “That must really hurt.”
“It’s not the worst part,” she assured him, then smiled at his grimace.
It was peaceful riding in the car with Colin, which was strange. She wasn’t used to being in his vicinity without a good argument brewing between them. Usually legal in nature, but sometimes political or economic. In truth, their world views weren’t that different, but from the first time they’d butted heads in law school, they’d seemed to take pleasure in picking fights with each other.
Back at her house, Colin surprised her by producing a key to her front door, then helping her inside. When she looked at him questioningly, he said, “It’s Beth’s.” He started to work it off the chain, but she stopped him.
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