PROLOGUE

FROM THE CORNER AT THE TOP of the stairs, a cherub-faced girl of eleven beheld the lighted parlor of her family home. Young Claire discreetly angled herself out of the line of sight, brushing her dusky curls from her eyes to better see the room. The scene before her gentle blue eyes wasn't what she expected to find. Mother and Father had gone out that evening to one of their flamboyant parties somewhere in the city of Boston, and Claire had leapt from her bed to greet them the instant she heard their voices. She couldn't wait until morning to draw out the stories of what lay beyond their quiet Brookline home. Instead, Mother and Father fought. Claire frowned with disappointment, knowing she must wait for the glamorous stories until tomorrow.

Claire lay on her stomach. She could just make out her mother from the chin down. The woman sat on one of the two sofas in the sitting room. Her knuckles strained white, gripping the arm of the sofa to which she leaned. Claire pressed herself lower. The face, elegantly framed in a wavy blond bob, almost always held a smile, but now an agonized strain marred its beauty. Behind Mother's seat, Father paced frantically and bellowed something terrible.

Father's mood would bring uncomfortable penalties for even the slightest breach. The girl's heart beat harder at the idea, warning her to flee back to her bed. Claire pressed herself against the wall. It was well after bedtime and she should have been asleep long ago. With large eyes, Claire came back to the scene. Panicked by all the yelling, she couldn't decide whether to stay or go.

Mother's head lolled wearily. Father continued to pace before the door, appearing in regular intervals. His voice followed him in and out like waves on a beach; the tones harshly peaked. The force of his movements stifled Claire's breath. Her gaze settled on Mother again. The woman's hands were clenched, and her teeth tore at her lip. Claire whispered pleas for her mother to speak up for herself.

"I don't understand where this is coming from," Father said, loosening the bow tie around his throat. "Are you ill again? Is that what this is about?"

Mother folded her hands in her lap and lowered her head, refusing to speak a word in response. The deep breath she drew through her nose confirmed the message of her posture.

"It's you who's sick," Mother finally hissed. "How could you do this to us?" she demanded, her voice full of anguish.

"You're delusional," Father said, halting before the door. His thick hand clutched at the back of his neck nervously. "I'll call Doctor O'Reilly. You need to rest. You've been under so much stress lately. What with me being forced to let those men go. That's when it started. I apologized for that, but there was nothing I could do. I told you-"

"It has nothing to do with what I've been through. I know what I saw tonight," Mother defended vehemently.

"That's for a doctor to decide," Father said ominously.

"I've never been delusional, Carroll," Mother replied. "It's you-you continue to try and cast me aside. Now I know why." She shook her head. "You're going to get rid of me," Mother blurted. "After what I've learned I should not be surprised you'd try to do so yourself," she said, sitting back in her chair, eyes searching the floor in disbelief. "I mean nothing to you anymore. You've lost yourself in this ghastly affair. You've become a twisted man in love with money and power."

Mother rose from her chair and approached the door. Father offered her his hand. She looked at it with dismay and shied away. Her eyes darted to his. Discomfort changed to fear. Hiding her face in her hand, Mother wept.

"Irene, you know it's not true," Father said in a vastly different tone. Closing his arms around her, he continued, "Because I love you, I want to get you help. I cannot stand the thought of losing you.

Besides, our little girl needs you now more than ever. She's growing up and needs her mother. Please let me help you, for Claire's sake?"

Mother lowered her hands from her face, drawing her arms tighter to her own frame. Father's touch repulsed her. She sniffed and tried to control her emotions. The tears swam in her eyes and streamed over her face. Her huge eyes filled with fear at his accusations.

"I only wish I could live with what I saw-for Claire's sake," Mother sobbed.

"You mean what you imagined, Irene. A little rest and that will be quite clear to you," Father chuckled.

The tone of his voice left Claire with a strange impression. She heard the very same laugh used when he met with businessmen at home. It wasn't consoling and wasn't meant to be. Though careful and guarded, it was a laugh that warned. Her father was considered shrewd for very good reasons. But why would he use such tactics in an argument with Mother?

Claire slid back along the wall, pressing her back to its solid support and shutting her eyes. She wished she'd never heard them come home. Whatever her father had done was too scary to imagine, even though her mind kept trying to solve the puzzle.

Claire saw her father in many moods throughout her life. Th man she knew was aloof, but always loving toward her. At times, he could be stern. Any father was the same. However, this mood was the nastiest by far. Whatever he'd done simply must be awful, she thought. She was afraid of him in a distressing new way.

Claire's ears suddenly filled with the sound of footsteps on the stairs. Her eyes popped open, and she decided she'd better move quickly before she was discovered and made to feel the brunt of his sternness. Hurrying down the hall, she paused, realizing her room was too far to reach in time. She looked to either side, but no crevice lent itself to hiding. She turned back toward the stairs.

Halfway between her room and the stairs, Claire heard her mother call her name. She spun around to see Mother standing in the hall alone. Her meticulous makeup lay smudged under her eyes, giving them a sunken and hopeless appearance. Claire swallowed hard and stepped toward her. She wanted to crush Mother in her arms and tell her everything would be okay. Nothing Father did could be as bad as all this hollering suggested.

Just before Claire reached her mother, Father stepped onto the landing behind them. His mood darkened further at the sight of his daughter. Something in his eyes made Claire hesitate.

"What are you doing out of bed?" Mother asked, touching Claire's face. She tried to smile sweetly through her misery.

"I heard voices-they woke me up," Claire explained shyly. She nervously scanned the hall, hoping they needed no more reason for her to be out of bed. "Is there anymore cake from dinner?" she blurted. "How was the party?"

"Always a pleasure, but I think we indulged a bit too much this evening," Father smiled, answering in his normal deep tones. His attitude changed so quickly, it was difficult to recall the mood that had just soured the house. "Don't take our lead, Claire. You can
have more cake tomorrow."

Mother grimaced, but Claire didn't betray her feelings so easily. She confessed to being woken by their argument and then insisted she have her cake as penance, especially after cruelly upsetting her mother. Unhampered by her father's mood, she took her mother's arm as if she was an old school chum and walked back to the stairs.

Claire focused upon the cake in spite of Father's advice because cake would fix this as sure as anything.

Carroll watched them suspiciously as they slipped from his reach.

"I think we should both have a piece of that lovely cake," Claire said loud enough and playful enough to make her father second guess his suspicions. A cold chill snaked up her back as he remained observing them. "Do you want any, Father?"

"No, Claire. I think I'll go to bed," he said wiping his brow with a nervous hand. "I'm quite exhausted, thank you."

Father headed up the dark hall to his bedroom. Claire waited until the sound of his steps disappeared. She was relieved to hear the soft sound of the bedroom door closing and continued down the stairs, dragging Mother behind her.

Claire led the way with determination as they walked along the hall to the kitchen door. She pushed the swinging panel hard enough for both of them to pass. On the other side, the kitchen glowed with bright light. The white polished tile glistened. In the center of the room, a rack of pans hung over a long worktable with benches. Claire led her mother to a stool and sat her down. Mother barely responded and appeared very ungrounded in the moment.

Claire blinked at her, forgetting the cake for a moment. Her eyes slid to the hands that clung to the edge of the unfinished oak surface. They trembled in the same way they did when they were cold, like when they built snow forts and snowmen. But the room felt warm, not cold. Claire shrugged, because it wasn't a girl's place to pry into her parent's affairs. They taught that at school.

Claire turned and made her way along the enormous table, slippers scuffing on the tile floor. At the opposite end of the golden oak room, the cake waited beneath the dome of a glass stand, only
partially eaten. She hummed while she busily prepared two slices.

Neatly putting back the dome, she then picked up the plates and returned to her mother.

Mother smiled at her, waking from worry and took the treat that was offered. Quickly, Claire sat down on the stool across the table and questioned her mother about the evening, hoping to console her. Mother answered halfheartedly, picking at the cake with her fork and pinning it with her eyes.

"Was their house nice?" Claire asked, shoving a forkful of cake into her mouth.

"It was."

"When I'm done with school, can I go to parties?"

"If your father says it's all right," Mother stabbed the cake with her fork.

"Father will."

"Of course." Mother tried to smile. After a long pause, she reached across the table to her daughter and took her hand. "You are so dear to me," she said.

Claire gazed uncomfortably at her mother's hand and then her face. In her mother's bearing she saw more than words told. Something terrible happened that night. Claire swallowed uneasily and tried to smile.

"I love you too, Mom," she said taking her mother's hand.

Mother smiled at Claire and patted her small arm. She pulled her warm touch away and excused herself, taking her battered cake with her. Claire marked her exit before returning to her dessert.

Somehow the chocolate cake didn't taste as good as she thought it would.

* * *

Irene wanted to be sure her only child would be taken care of, but to ensure Claire's safety through the inevitable, she would need help. In the entry hall, a small table and chair sat beside the paneled flight of stairs. Her eyes fixated on the phone resting there.

Regardless of the danger to herself, Irene went to the table. She set down the cake and sat on the cold chair. She picked up the receiver and clicked the arm up and down to alert the operator. A distant voice crackled over the line. Irene looked to the kitchen door and nearly lost her nerve.

"Manhattan 6331, please. Miss Noreen O'Shea," Irene spoke low into the receiver. Her eyes searched the stairs above her.

"One moment, please," the voice replied.

Irene imagined all sorts of sounds coming from the staircase. She feared if her husband discovered her on the phone at this hour, he would call the doctor immediately and all would be lost.

Claire whisked past like a darting apparition. Irene nearly jumped out of her skin, gasping in fright. The girl paused and appeared startled herself, but quickly hurried up the stairs. Irene's heart slowed as the house fell deathly still.

"Hello," the voice came over the line.

"Hello, Noreen?"

"Honey is that you?" a boisterous voice asked.

"Yes, it's me."

"What are you doing up so late?"

"Carroll's in trouble, Noreen. I've no time to explain. Tomorrow I'll be going away. I need you to take Claire," Irene said. She fought to find the words. "If he isn't afraid to do this to me-she'll be no different."

"Irene?" The voice came again sounding confused.

"I've no time," Irene said desperately. "You must hurry. Come tonight."

"Honey, you all right? What's going on?"

"Yes, I'm all right-I have to go. Please, Noreen. You're her only chance. Please tell me you'll come."

After a lengthy pause, Noreen's voice came. "I'll be there soon as I can."

"Thank you." Irene said, her shoulders relaxing.

She heard the sound of heavy footsteps coming hurriedly down the hall.

"I have to go! Hurry!" Irene hoarsely whispered as she hung up.

Noreen's distant voice continued to prattle until the receiver sat back in the cradle to silence it. Irene picked up the fork on her plate and stuffed cake in her mouth. The footsteps trampled the stairs now. She moved the chocolate around her mouth, attempting to savor it. It might be the last time she ever tasted such a thing again.

The footsteps hit the hall floor and stopped. Irene refused to notice him. She already knew Carroll stood there with one hand on the rail and the other a fist on his hip. Seventeen years living there had trained her to understand the different sounds of her household without fail.

"Who were you talking too?" Carroll asked ominously.

Carroll's jacket was missing, and his tie dangled from his neck. His shirt hung slack, partly unbuttoned.

"I was just sitting here-finishing the cake." She paused to show the plate and the half-eaten piece. "Claire insisted."

"I heard voices," he said suspiciously.

"You heard me and your daughter, saying good night," Irene snapped.

Carroll made his way over to the parlor door and peered in. His eyes searched inside. He came back to Irene, clearly disappointed that no one else was there. Then his sharp eyes saw the dust ring left by the phone. He touched the earpiece and she knew she was caught.

"Now you're imagining things," she laughed. "What will this family ever do with both of us needing a good rest? I had to move it aside to put the plate down."

"I don't know, but we better get help soon," he half laughed, dropping his hand back to his side.

Irene held the small plate of cake before her like a barrier. His face became iron, and he stuffed his hands in his pockets. The memory of who he once was flashed in her mind. It made her smile softly. Her husband was a good man who simply lost his way for a time.

The economic crisis changed a lot of good people. Irene saw it everywhere, and had mistakenly thought they were among the lucky ones to avoid the fall out. Several of their neighbors lost their shirts in the Crash. Carroll had suffered very little compared to them. He'd only needed to cut back and do with less profit for a short time. She still recalled the faces of the men they let go on the day she arrived at the factory to take her husband to lunch. She had never felt guiltier.

They'd eaten an expensive meal in a top-notch restaurant, wearing audacious finery, while families scraped by to feed their children.

In those hard times, they'd sent their daughter away to school and away from the depressed sights of the city. Her husband had done very fine compared to most. So what about this monster had won him over? Was it the rousing oratories or the reason he had given for the world crisis? Was this why they were spared?

Irene no longer denied that the man before her was only a shell of the man she married. Carroll had become someone she didn't know and didn't want to know. She felt sick to her stomach. The sugar in her mouth tasted rancid.

Irene rose from the chair, setting her cake aside. She took Carroll's hand. For now, for peace and for Claire, she would make him think she still believed in a return from all of this. The dark reflection in his eyes made her cold. By morning, her fate would be left in the hands of a doctor on the payroll.

* * *

The bright sun streaming through the bedroom window gently woke Claire from a deep, forgetful sleep. With bleary eyes, she scanned the pleats of the canopy over her bed. Claire rolled onto her side and exhaled irritably. Her eyes studied the room she'd had a rare chance to see since going away to school. She relished the idea of not having to go back for an entire summer. She missed her space filled with her treasures, a space she didn't have to share with a soul.

Stretching the sleep from her limbs, she yawned. She slept the best she had in months. By her clock it was late too. Claire flipped the blankets back and jumped up. She would need to wash and dress before she went downstairs. Hurrying through her preparations, Claire soon sat at her dressing table brushing her long brown hair, thinking of all the questions she wanted to ask at breakfast. She'd nearly forgotten everything about last night. Then she heard the sounds of an argument coming from the lower level of the house. Her mother's voice rose shrilly. Dropping her brush, Claire hurried from her room and down the hall to the top of the stairs. The voices distinguished themselves clearly and loudly there, emerging from the parlor just the same as the night before. Hurrying down the stairs, she went to see what would unfold.

Halfway down, Claire found her way blocked. Aunt Noreen came toward her, using her bulk swathed in fur to block the way. The woman smiled pleasantly like she usually did. Yet Claire sensed nothing but determination in the expression. Claire hesitated, rethinking her route. She leaned over the banister to see her father and Doctor O'Reilly moving about the parlor. Her mother's voice came from the room again, whipping Claire into action. Attempting to dodge her aunt, Claire became intent on protecting her mother from the men.

"Why don't we go upstairs and you can tell me all about school," her aunt said, deftly blocking the way.

Aunt Noreen smiled insistently at her. Claire folded her arms and huffed, unwilling to accept defeat. Her eyes went to the narrow view of the parlor. Her father's back and the doctor blocked the view of her mother.

"What are they doing to Mother?" Claire demanded.

"Your mother's upset about something that happened last night," Aunt explained with her strong New York Irish accent. Her blue eyes examined those of her niece.

"I don't like this," Claire whined. "Something's wrong with Daddy. He's not been himself lately. Aunt Noreen, we must help her."

"Your mother phoned me last night, darlin'. When I got here this morning, the house was torn up and they had her bag packed," Aunt said, gently guiding her back upstairs to the landing, where they commanded a view of the entryway. "Now I need you to listen carefully to what I say, girly. Can you do that?" Aunt asked nearing her. She placed a hand on Claire's shoulder and waited for a response. Claire examined the hall below and nodded. "Your mother told your father that you called me last night, and that's why I'm here. I told him you heard them fighting, and I offered to come. I'm a meddlesome pain in the rear. Do you understand? That's what he knows. That's all he needs to know."

"Please, Aunt Noreen. What's going on?" Claire asked frightened.

She chewed her lip and furrowed her brow.

"Your mother's not feeling well," Aunt said strikingly similar to Father.

Aunt tilted her head and regarded her sympathetically. Claire saw that her aunt didn't know the truth. She merely repeated the words her mother said last night in the kitchen, the same words her father said in the parlor. Claire gripped the railing balusters before her and continued to observe the hall below. She was frustrated by the way adults tried to protect her when she could see reality for herself.

"What's wrong with her then?"

"We don't know. That's why the doctor is here."

Aunt Noreen's ample frame came to rest beside her, less aware of the girl it was being used to block. Sensing her moment to break free, Claire tore down the stairs. She disappeared around the corner into the front room across the hall before her aunt was able to taken even the first step down. Claire pressed herself between Father and the doctor. She found her mother sitting on the couch in one of her pretty Sunday suits. In her hand, she clutched a. handkerchief, occasionally dabbing her eyes with the delicate white fabric. Two large men in white jackets and pants stood on either side of her. Claire hesitated as their beady eyes fell on her.

"Mother," Claire said.

Claire felt their disapproving glances. She looked over her shoulder when Mother didn't answer. Her father's features held terrible anger; he was deeply upset by her arrival. The doctor backed away sheepishly. His jaundiced eyes went to her father.

"Father?"

Father had looked at her but tore his eyes away in disgust. Her chin drooped as he turned his back. Claire looked to her mother, hoping one of them would answer her.

"You see what you've done? We could have avoided this if you had cooperated," Father accused, coming toward them again.

"I see," Mother said. Her anger destroyed her usually passive mood. She stopped weeping and swept a raw gaze over him. "This is what I wanted."

"You're sick," Carroll snarled between his teeth.

"I'm so sorry," Aunt said, entering the room. "I tried to take her upstairs."

Father growled at her, raising his hand as if to strike her. She gasped, covering her heart with her hand. He quit Aunt's side, throwing his arm down and not fulfilling his wish. He drew nearer to the couch and Mother.

"I won't have you hurting her or me like this anymore. If you won't go with Doctor O'Reilly, I will sign the paper myself," Father continued in a dangerous, low tone.

Silence overtook them. Claire called her father again, desperate to stop the fighting. Mother clearly wasn't sick. He just wanted her to go away, had grown angry with her over something silly. The tears burst from Claire's eyes. She wished the big men in white would drag him off for a long rest instead.

Aunt's hand grasped her shoulder and tried to take her from the room. Claire reluctantly allowed the woman to pull her toward the door. She couldn't stand to see it anymore.

Mother stood abruptly. She carefully smoothed her skirt and put her handkerchief in a small purse she held on her lap. Father peered at her over his shoulder triumphantly. Mother stared back at him. His gloating ended with both of them barely disguising their hatred in a silent challenge.

"Doctor O'Reilly, shall we go?" Mother asked as if she was simply inquiring about the weather.

"Mom," Claire whimpered, feeling the floor drop from beneath her.

"Irene," Aunt said, barely audible.

A shadow came over the house like a dark hand enfolding them. The sun no longer reached the windows. It suddenly felt cold. Mother stepped toward the archway, stopping before Claire. She reached for Claire's hand and squeezed her fingers reassuringly. Releasing the digits, she then caressed Claire's face and put on the warmest smile she could manage. She continued out of the room with the two big men in white. The doctor nodded at Father and followed.

Claire dashed through the arch back into the entryway. The big men took up Mother's case. Once the symbol of freedom and a good life, the hard leather luggage was now the symbol of a terrible threat.

Claire wanted to dash at them and pull it away. They couldn't take mother from her if she didn't have her things. Her aunt's hands on her shoulders stayed her to the spot. She stood by helplessly as the doctor opened the front door. Father put Mother's summer jacket on her shoulders and then rubbed his finger tips as if he'd touched something repulsive. Mother eyed him with a half-frown.

The doctor called to her, and she continued out into the bright day. Mother tipped her face up to the sky, soaking in the warm light.

"Mom," Claire called, tearing away from Aunt once more.

Mother smiled at her. The pain in Claire's face made her mother crumple to her knees. She fiddled with Claire's shirt buttons, fixing them where she had missed. Claire saw the struggle on her mother's face and tears filled her own eyes. She then took Claire's hands
in hers.

"I want you to live with Aunt Noreen when you're not at school-just until I get back." Mother's voice wavered. "Please don't worry. When I come home in a very little while, everything will be all right," she sniffed, forcing herself to smile.

"Where are you going?" Claire asked, her eyes full of tears. No matter what her mother said, it felt like the end of everything.

"I'm not feeling well, Claire. Not like I used to. So-I'm going to have a nice little rest-like a vacation."

"Can I go with you?"

"No, Claire," Mother said, losing herself in Claire's eyes. "I have to do this alone. Just like when you went to school. You remember how hard that was?"

"I remember." They focused on each other, trying to hang on to the moment a while longer. "Mom," Claire whimpered again.

"Yes, Claire."

"I love you," Claire said, throwing her arms around her mother's neck.

"I love you too," she said warmly, though she glared at her husband over her daughter's shoulders. "I will be back. You can count on it."

* * *

Noreen stood beside Carroll, mustering her strength against her helplessness to prevent him from going forward with his orders. Even if she intervened, he still held the right to send her sister away with the doctor. He was her husband. In the nasty smile twisting about his lips, Noreen saw exactly how Carroll thought of his wife and daughter. Noreen had never thought the boy they'd met in New York twenty years ago would have become such a cruel man. Yet here he stood enjoying the torment he inflicted.

Irene released her daughter and stood. Claire sniffed back her tears and reluctantly let her go. Irene left her only child on the stairs and descended to the drive. Noreen saw her sister trembling as she resigned herself to this fate. She rushed to Irene, putting her arm around her shoulders. Irene stopped and faced her, taking her hands. She studied the fingers that had grown alongside hers, the ones she'd held so often in those long lost days, then lifted her face to cast a sense of reassurance on Noreen.

Noreen felt something pressed to her hand, but didn't look. She masked her surprise in a frown and nod. Then she crushed her sister in her arms, tucking the item up her sleeve. Passing notes had become an art form between them in girlhood. She'd never thought they would need to make use of their fun little game as adults.

Irene pulled back from the embrace. She continued along the drive to where the doctor waited beside his vehicle. The orderlies packed Irene's bag in the back. The doctor opened the door for Irene and held his arm out to respectfully help her inside.

Claire ran down the steps, refusing to let her mother go so easily. Irene climbed into the car and the doctor quickly closed the door. Claire saw her mother through the open window. She couldn't touch her.

"Good-bye, my darling," Mother smiled.

"No, Mother. Not good-bye. You'll be back-remember?"

Mother nodded as the car started. The vehicle pulled away, driving toward the gate and onto the street beyond. Claire chased it down the drive and called to her mother. The gate swung closed and she threw herself against it. Noreen dropped her eyes to the stairs before the scene made her burst into tears.

"You'd better know what you're doing." Noreen faced him and boldly continued. "Because I'll be watching your every move until my sister comes home-and she will come home."

"I advise you to mind your own business, Noreen, if you know what's good for you." He paused and then smiled deviously. "I'm only doing what the woman I love needs me to do. I beg you to hold your judgment."

"Lock her up?" Noreen clucked sarcastically. "I'm packing Claire's things. I won't spend the night in this house."

"Do what you must. I know you feel you must honor your sister's wishes."

Carroll walked back into the house under her scathing glance. Noreen knew he'd feel that things would be much easier for him without the girl underfoot anyway. He wouldn't bother to fight her on that.

Noreen made her way down the stairs to the drive. She paused, clasping her hands at her waist. Claire stood pressed to the gate. She heard her crying. Noreen frowned, waiting for the girl to give up and come back. She didn't plan on leaving the child's side until they were safely away.

When Claire finally turned, she was no longer crying. She slowly walked the long driveway with her head hung. When Claire climbed the steps and stood before her, Noreen put her arm around the girl and guided her inside, away from that awful scene.

"You're going to love New York, darlin'," Noreen said. "I promise. The first thing we're going to do is decorate your new room. I think it's time for a big girl bed. What do you think?"