Novels by Sylvia

The press conference was at two o'clock on a Wednesday.I watched it on Harry's laptop at the kitchen table with Jo in my lap and a cup of tea I had made and forgotten to drink. Harry was beside me. My mother had called at one fifty-seven to say she was watching on her television and we should not call her during it.The Royal Gold Mine logo was behind the podium. The same logo that had been on the building where I had worked for five years, on the letterhead of the contract I had signed, on the magazine cover where my face had been used without my meaningful consent. The logo of a company built on my grandfather's land and my father's discovery and thirty-eight years of careful, documented theft.Fabiola walked to the podium at two oh three.He was in the dark suit. No tie. He had been doing that recently, the no tie, which was either a deliberate signal or simply a man who had stopped performing for audiences that no longer required the performance."He looks like himself," Harry sa

Renata called at seven forty-three on a Monday morning.I was at the kitchen table with Jo in the carrier and Harry across from me with his legal pad and the coffee that was too strong, which had become the shape of our mornings without either of us deciding it should be. The light came through the warehouse windows at the angle it came through in November, lower and more serious than October."The DA filed this morning," Renata said.I put the cup down."Which charges?""Conspiracy to commit murder," she said. "The death of Joseph Thomas Knowles. They are adding it to the existing federal indictment as a parallel state charge."Harry looked up from the legal pad."When was it filed?" I said."Six forty-one this morning. Before the building opened. They wanted it on the record before his lawyers could file any preemptive motion.""What made them move now?""Three things," Renata said. "The forensic preservation from the original investigation. Reyes's full statement. And the Tennessee

The courtroom was smaller than I expected.I do not know what I had expected. Something larger, perhaps, more proportional to the size of what had been done and the years it had taken to arrive here. What the federal courthouse on Spring Street offered was a room with wooden benches and fluorescent lighting and the particular smell of a place where consequential things happened in ordinary surroundings.I had Jo in the carrier against my chest.Renata had told me not to bring her."It is a pretrial motion," she had said. "Not a trial. There is no jury to see you. It is just lawyers and a judge.""I know," I had said."Then why..""Because I have been waiting fourteen months to sit in a room with him and know that the room belongs to someone else," I had said. "And I want her there when it happens."Renata had looked at Jo."Fine," she had said. "Keep her quiet."We arrived at eight forty.Harry was beside me. My mother had come but stayed in the hall at Renata's request, one fewer va

Fabiola was putting on his jacket in the hallway when Harry came out of the back room.They stood in the narrow corridor between the kitchen and the front door, the two of them, in the specific configuration of people who have been moving around each other in small spaces for weeks and have not yet found the language for the larger thing.Jo was making her arrival sounds from the bedroom.Neither of them moved toward the door or back toward the kitchen."You heard," Fabiola said."Some of it.""How much?""Enough."Fabiola looked at his jacket buttons. "And?""And I think you said the right things," Harry said. "In the right way.""High praise.""It is," Harry said. "From me. You know it is."Fabiola looked at the wall."I should go," he said."You should," Harry said. "But you are not.""No," Fabiola said. "I am not."They stood there.From the bedroom, Jo escalated from sounds to declaration. The specific vocal register of a person who has decided that being in the other room is no

He knocked at seven on a Thursday evening.Harry opened the door. Fabiola was in a plain jacket and dark jeans, the off-duty version of himself that had become more frequent since the board appointment, as if the interim CEO role had, paradoxically, given him permission to dress like a person rather than a position. He was holding a bottle of red wine by the neck."Is she here?" he said."In the kitchen," Harry said. "Jo is asleep.""Good." He held up the bottle. "I am not going to drink this. I brought it because I did not know what else to bring and it seemed like the kind of thing you bring when you need to have a difficult conversation.""That is one approach," Harry said."Do you have a better one?""I usually just show up," Harry said."Yes," Fabiola said. "You are better at that than I am."Harry took the bottle.He looked at his brother for a moment."Do you need me to stay or go?" he said."Go," Fabiola said. "Please.""I will be in the back room.""Thank you."Harry set the

Jo had been asleep for eleven minutes.I knew because I had been counting. Not anxiously. The way you count things when your mind has finally gone quiet enough to notice small details again. The October light came through the tall warehouse windows in long gold bars. The city blinked beyond the glass.I stood at the window and let it happen.Harry's footsteps came down the hallway.He stopped beside me. He looked at Jo against my shoulder. He looked at the city."She is actually asleep," he said."Eleven minutes.""That is a record.""Do not say it too loud."He almost smiled. "What are you thinking about?""The river," I said."The Coosa?""I want to take her there. Not soon. When she is old enough to stand in the water." I looked at Jo's face. "I want her to feel the current against her shins and understand why he loved it.""She will," Harry said."You sound certain.""She already pays attention to everything," he said. "She is going to be the kind of person who understands rivers.