Chapter 10 - The First Snow
The iron gate by the river was old, its hinges greased so well it didn't make a sound when Grace pushed it open with her gloved hand.
The Delaware River looked like liquid lead beneath the midday sun, gray and heavy, moving slowly past the concrete piers where the cargo ships sat waiting for the tide.
Vincent Caruso was standing by the stone wall with his hands in his pockets, watching a tugboat push a string of empty barges toward the sea.
Grace walked up beside him, her boots crunching softly on the gravel path. She didn't say anything about the clinic, or the trust fund, or the house in Gladwyne that was currently being cleared out by movers who looked like they were working under military orders.
“The baby’s kicking,” Grace said after a moment, her hand resting against the heavy wool of her coat.
Vincent turned his head. The silver at his temples caught the pale winter light. “Hard?”
“Like she’s trying to break out.”
“Good,” Vincent said, a faint, rare ghost of a smile touching the corners of his mouth. “She’s got her grandfather’s temper.”
Grace looked out over the river, the cold air filling her lungs with something clean and sharp that tasted like survival.
“What are we going to call her?” Vincent asked quietly.
Grace looked down at the iron key in her pocket—the one that opened this gate to the river, away from the city and the noise and the people who thought they owned everything.
May you like
“Elena,” Grace said. “Elena Vasquez.”
Vincent nodded once. He didn't look back at the big house, or the city behind it, or the ledger locked in his desk drawer. He just reached out and took her arm, steady and heavy, as they turned back toward the warm lights of the guesthouse together.
