Chương 6
“I found the account,” he said.
His voice sounded far away.
“Which account?”
“The one your mother called the investment account.”
“Is there money in it?”
“Forty-three dollars and sixteen cents.”
Clara closed the lease ledger.
“What happened?”
“She withdrew most of it four years ago.”
“For the hospital?”
“Some. Not most.”
He cleared his throat.
“I need you to come to the house.”
“No.”
“There are documents I don’t understand.”
“Ask Serena.”
“She left.”
“Where did she go?”
“Graham’s apartment, I think. He won’t answer her.”
Clara stood and pulled the curtain aside. The rain had stopped. The parking lot shone beneath a colorless sky.
“Take pictures of the documents,” she said. “Send them.”
“I don’t know which matter.”
“All of them.”
“There are boxes.”
“Then start with the account statements.”
He was silent.
“Clara, your mother is gone.”
“Gone where?”
“She took a suitcase.”
That did not frighten Clara. Marjorie did not disappear. She relocated until other people became uncomfortable enough to pursue her.
“Check Louise’s,” Clara said.
“I did.”
“Her club?”
“It’s closed.”
“She’ll call.”
Richard lowered his voice. “There’s a letter with your name on it.”
Clara’s grip tightened on the curtain.
“What kind of letter?”
“It’s from Northbridge. Dated three years ago. It says your guarantee was accepted based on supplemental income documentation.”
“I submitted my pay statements.”
“There’s another document.”
“What?”
“A projected housing allowance.”
Clara turned away from the window.
“I didn’t submit that.”
“It has your signature.”
The coffee turned sour in her stomach.
“Send me a picture.”
A minute later, the image appeared.
The document showed Clara’s name, rank, estimated income, and a projected allowance based on an assignment she had discussed but never received. The signature looked like hers from a distance. Up close, the final stroke bent in the wrong direction.
She had seen Marjorie imitate that signature before, on birthday cards and school permission slips, always as a joke.
“Dad, don’t touch anything else.”
“What?”
“Put the document down.”
“I’m holding it.”
“Set it on the table. Take pictures of every page, but don’t write on them, staple them, or move them into another order.”
“Did she sign your name?”
“I don’t know.”
She did know.
Her body responded before her mind allowed the conclusion. Her shoulders tightened. Her breath shortened. She checked the hotel door, then felt ridiculous for checking it.
“Call Serena,” she said. “Tell her what you found.”
“I need you here.”
“You need to stop needing me to stand between you and the truth.”
“That isn’t what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing.”
Richard’s voice broke. “I don’t know how to do this.”
Clara looked at the crooked lighthouse.
Neither did she.
She returned to the house at nine thirty because refusing to help would not make the forged document disappear. She told herself she was protecting her name, not rescuing Richard. The distinction felt useful during the drive and less convincing when she found him standing in the foyer beside six cardboard boxes.
The dining room had not been cleaned. Plates remained on the table beneath clear plastic wrap. The turkey sat in the refrigerator, but its empty platter had been left beside the candles. Someone had placed Clara’s spoon on her plate.
Richard wore the same navy sweater. The cranberry stain had dried into a dark crescent.
“You should change,” Clara said.
He looked down at himself as if surprised to find clothing there.
“I forgot.”
She removed her coat.
“Where’s Mom?”
“No call.”
“Did you check credit cards?”
“I don’t know the passwords.”
“Of course.”
The sharpness in her voice made him flinch. Clara regretted it and did not apologize.
Serena arrived ten minutes later carrying a laptop bag and wearing yesterday’s dark burgundy pants with a gray sweatshirt. Her hair had been pulled into a rough knot. Without makeup, she looked younger and more severe.
“Graham asked me to leave,” she said.
Richard moved toward her.
Serena lifted a hand. “Please don’t hug me.”
He stopped.
She set the laptop bag on the dining table and looked at Clara.
“I brought everything I have.”
“Did you know about the income document?”
“No.”
Clara handed her the photograph.
Serena enlarged the signature on her phone. Her face hardened.
“That isn’t yours.”
“I know.”
“Did Mom have access to your records?”
“She had copies of my pay statements from the lease application.”
“She would have needed more than that.”
“She had my power of attorney while I was at training.”
Richard sat down.
Clara had forgotten about the power of attorney. It had been limited, she thought. Banking, insurance, vehicle registration. She had signed it in a legal assistance office, then mailed a copy to Marjorie because her mother insisted someone needed authority if Clara became unreachable.
“Was it still valid?” Serena asked.
“It had an expiration date.”
“Before or after this document?”
Clara checked.
After.
Serena pressed her lips together. “She may have had authority to submit financial information.”
“Not false information.”
“No.”
“Not to sign for me.”
“No.”
Richard rubbed his forehead. “What does this mean?”
“It means we don’t guess,” Serena said. Her professional voice had returned, clipped and orderly. “We preserve the documents, request the full application file from Northbridge, and determine whether the signature affected approval.”
Clara watched her.
“What?”
“You sound comfortable now.”
Serena closed the photograph. “This part I understand.”
“That must be nice.”
“Would you rather I fall apart?”
“I’d rather know where you were when she needed someone to lie to me in complete sentences.”
Richard pushed his chair back.
“Stop.”
Both daughters turned toward him.
He looked exhausted, but something firmer had entered his face.
“We are not doing what your mother taught us to do.”
Serena laughed once. “You mean letting her do something terrible and then asking Clara and me to be nicer about it?”
Richard absorbed that without defending himself.
“Yes,” he said. “That.”
Serena looked away first.
May you like
They worked at the dining table for three hours.
The boxes contained statements, contracts, insurance notices, tax documents, and unopened envelopes. Marjorie’s filing system was precise until it wasn’t. Household expenses were labeled by year. Richard’s medical records had tabs. The investment account documents appeared in three different boxes, mixed with charity receipts and old Christmas cards.
