Chapter 7: The Woman Who Knew My Mother's Last Secret
For several seconds, I couldn't hear the music coming from the ballroom.
All I could hear was Vanessa's voice.
“She disappeared the week your mother died.””
I stared at the phone in my hand.
The unknown number remained on the screen, the message glowing beneath the ballroom lights.
“Who was she?”” I asked.
Vanessa glanced toward Dad, who was speaking quietly with Lily a few feet away.
“Her name was Evelyn Brooks. She worked with your mother for years. They weren't just colleagues. They were best friends.””
“Then why have I never heard of her?””
“Because Patricia told everyone Evelyn had stolen your mother's designs.””
I felt a chill move through me.
“What?””
Vanessa nodded, her eyes fixed on the phone.
“After your mother died, Patricia said Evelyn had taken the original collection and disappeared. Dad believed her. I believed her, too.””
I shook my head.
“That doesn't make sense. Why would Evelyn contact me now?””
“I don't know.””
“You seem to know an awful lot for someone who supposedly knows nothing.””
Vanessa flinched.
“I know because I found the letters.””
“What letters?””
She reached into her purse and pulled out a folded piece of paper. Its edges were yellowed, and the handwriting on the front was unmistakably my mother's.
For Evelyn. When the time is right.
My fingers trembled as I took it.
“Where did you find this?””
“Inside Patricia's desk. Along with the key.””
“Did you read it?””
“No. I was afraid she'd catch me.””
I unfolded the letter.
The first line made my knees weak.
If anything happens to me, please make sure Emma gets the blue notebook.
I read the sentence again.
The blue notebook.
My mother had owned dozens of notebooks. She used them for sketches, measurements, fabric samples, and ideas she would sometimes wake me up in the middle of the night to explain.
But one notebook stood out in my memory.
It had a dark blue cover and a silver clasp. When I was little, I'd once tried to open it, but Mom had gently taken it from my hands.
“Not yet, sweetheart,” she'd told me.
“One day, when you're ready.””
I had forgotten about it after she died.
Or perhaps I'd convinced myself it had been lost with everything else.
I looked at Vanessa.
“Where is the notebook?””
She shook her head.
“I don't know.””
“Then we find it.””
Dad approached us.
“Find what?””
I folded the letter and slipped it into my purse.
“Something Mom left behind.””
His expression changed immediately.
“What kind of something?””
Before I could answer, Vanessa stepped forward.
“Dad, there's something I need to tell you.””
I looked at her in surprise.
She swallowed hard.
“I lied about the dress. I threw the paint at Emma on purpose.””
Dad went completely still.
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
“I was jealous. I thought if I ruined her prom, she'd stop trying to compete with me.””
Dad looked at the crimson roses on my gown.
“Vanessa, do you understand what you've done?””
“Yes.””
“No. I don't think you do.””
His voice was quiet, but the disappointment in it made her lower her eyes.
“You humiliated your stepsister. Then you tried to damage her scholarship application. And now you're telling me there may be something important about her mother's belongings that you've kept secret.””
“I was scared.””
“Of what?””
Vanessa glanced at the letter in my hand.
“Of Patricia.””
Dad stared at her.
“Your mother?””
She nodded.
He rubbed his forehead.
“Why would your mother threaten you over Emma's inheritance?””
“I don't know everything,” Vanessa said.
“But I know she kept Emma's mother's designs. And I know she didn't want Emma to find them.””
Dad looked at me.
“Emma, I think we need to go home.””
“No.””
He blinked.
“What?””
“I want to find the storage unit first.””
“It's late. Whatever is happening, we can deal with it tomorrow.””
I held up the letter.
“Dad, Mom specifically wrote that I should get the blue notebook if anything happened to her. Someone has been keeping it from me for years. I'm not waiting another day.””
He studied my face.
Then he nodded slowly.
“All right. But we're going together.””
Vanessa looked relieved.
“I'll come, too.””
Dad turned toward her.
“You will come only if Emma wants you there.””
Every eye shifted toward me.
I thought about the bucket of paint. The ruined dress. The cruel things Vanessa had said in my bedroom.
Then I remembered the moment she'd admitted the truth in front of everyone.
“I want answers,” I said.
“If Vanessa has them, she can come.””
Her shoulders dropped.
“Thank you.””
“Don't thank me yet.””
We left the prom before the final dance.
Lily hugged me outside the ballroom and made me promise to call when we knew more. She also insisted on photographing my scholarship certificate before I tucked it safely into my bag.
“Whatever happens,” she said, “you earned that scholarship. Don't let anyone take that away from you.””
“I won't.””
Dad drove us downtown.
The storage facility stood behind a row of closed warehouses, its metal gates shining beneath the streetlights. A security guard checked Dad's identification before allowing us inside.
The address on the envelope led to unit 214.
My heart hammered as I approached the door.
A brass lock hung from the latch.
I took the silver key from my purse.
It fit.
The lock clicked open.
Dad pulled up the metal door.
Inside stood several cardboard boxes, a wooden sewing cabinet, and an old dressmaker's mannequin draped in a protective sheet.
Dust floated through the narrow beam of Dad's flashlight.
I stepped inside.
“Mom?””
The word escaped before I could stop it.
Of course, she wasn't there.
But for the first time since her death, I was standing in a place that had belonged to her alone.
I moved toward the sewing cabinet.
Inside were spools of thread, old scissors, and several carefully wrapped fabric samples. Beneath them lay a stack of envelopes tied with blue ribbon.
Vanessa picked up one of the boxes.
“This is it.””
She pulled back the flaps.
Inside were dozens of sketches, each labeled in my mother's handwriting.
I lifted the top page.
A silver gown with crimson roses ran across the paper.
My breath caught.
It looked almost exactly like the dress I'd created for prom.
The similarities were impossible to ignore: the asymmetrical neckline, the layered skirt, the flowers climbing toward one shoulder.
But the sketch was dated nearly fifteen years earlier.
Dad stepped beside me.
“Emma, your mother designed this?””
I nodded slowly.
“I've never seen it before.””
Beneath the sketch lay a photograph of my mother standing beside Evelyn Brooks. Both women were smiling, and between them stood a younger Patricia.
On the back, my mother had written:
The beginning of everything. One day, Emma will understand.
I turned the photograph over again.
Something had been tucked behind it.
A small envelope.
My name was written across the front.
I opened it carefully.
Inside was a note and a tiny brass key.
The note contained just one sentence.
The notebook is not where Patricia thinks it is.
I stared at the words.
Then I heard a metallic bang from the corridor outside.
Dad turned toward the door.
“Who's there?””
Footsteps approached.
A woman's voice answered from the darkness.
“Please don't let Patricia see what you've found.””
I knew that voice.
I'd heard it only once before, through the phone.
It belonged to Evelyn Brooks.
And when she stepped into the light, she was holding a photograph of my mother that I had never seen before.
In it, Mom stood beside a newborn baby.
A baby wearing a tiny silver bracelet engraved with the name *Emma*.
Evelyn looked at me, tears gathering in her eyes.
May you like
“There's something your mother wanted you to know before she died,” she whispered.
“And it has nothing to do with fashion.””
