Chương 4
It was a habit I developed in Canada.
Strong coffee.
No sugar.
Standing at the kitchen counter for five quiet minutes before the day started.
Back there, those five minutes were the only time nobody needed anything from me.
I held the mug and looked around the kitchen.
The countertops were new.
The cabinets were new.
Even the refrigerator was newer than the one Lucy and I bought when we first moved in.
A small magnet was still stuck on the side.
It was from a roadside diner we stopped at during our first anniversary trip.
Lucy had kept it because she said the waitress had remembered our names.
I touched the edge of it.
A tiny piece of a life I thought was still waiting for us.
Footsteps came from the hallway.
My mother stopped when she saw me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
She looked different without the anger.
More tired.
"You should have told me you were coming home," she said.
"I wanted it to be a surprise."
She nodded slowly.
"It was."
I waited.
She waited too.
That was how conversations in our family had always worked.
Nobody wanted to be the first person to admit something.
Finally, she walked toward the coffee machine.
"Your father used to say silence makes people imagine worse things."
I looked at her.
"Was he wrong?"
She did not answer.
My father had been gone for six years.
He was the kind of man who fixed things before anyone noticed they were broken.
A leaking pipe.
A broken fence.
A bad mood in the house.
He would disappear into the garage and come back with a solution.
I used to think that was strength.
Now I wondered if he had simply been tired of explaining himself.
"Where are the records?" I asked.
My mother's hand stopped above the coffee cup.
"What records?"
"The bank records."
She looked at me carefully.
"You really hired someone?"
"I said I was checking everything."
"That is not an answer."
"It is the only one you are getting."
Her face tightened.
For the first time, I saw something besides guilt.
Fear.
It was small.
Almost hidden.
But it was there.
"Why are you scared?" I asked.
"I'm not."
"You are."
She looked away.
"You always think you know people because you watch them closely."
"I do watch closely."
"Your father did that too."
The mention of him changed the room.
My mother sat down.
For a few seconds, she looked like she wanted to say something honest.
Then the front door opened.
Brianna walked in carrying a shopping bag.
She looked surprised to see me awake.
"Mom, I thought you were going to handle this."
My mother looked at her.
That sentence bothered me.
Not because of what Brianna said.
Because of how naturally it came out.
Handle this.
Like I was a problem.
Like Lucy's illness was an inconvenience.
Like the last four years were a situation to manage.
"Handle what?" I asked.
Brianna froze.
She placed the bag on the counter.
"Nothing."
"Interesting answer."
She rolled her eyes.
"You are doing that thing again."
"What thing?"
"Acting like everyone is against you."
I almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead, I looked at the shopping bag.
A receipt was sticking out.
The logo belonged to an expensive clothing store.
I did not care about the clothes.
I cared about the date.
The purchase was from two days earlier.
While Lucy was sleeping in a storage shed.
"How much did the salon cost?" I asked.
Brianna crossed her arms.
"Why?"
"Because I paid for it."
"No, Mom paid for it."
"With what?"
She did not answer.
My mother stepped between us.
"Nathan."
I turned toward her.
"I need the truth."
"You are angry."
"Yes."
"Anger makes people cruel."
I looked at Lucy's empty bedroom doorway.
"Being silent made people cruel."
Nobody spoke.
A few minutes later, Lucy came into the kitchen.
She had changed clothes.
Still too loose.
Still too thin.
But she had brushed her hair around the places where it was growing back.
That tiny effort hurt me.
She noticed the tension immediately.
"What happened?"
"Nothing," my mother said.
Lucy looked at me.
She knew better.
She always had.
"Tell me."
I did not want her carrying another burden.
But I also did not want to start protecting her with lies.
"I am looking through the finances."
Her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Fear.
"Why?"
"Because I need to know where the money went."
She sat down slowly.
"Nathan."
"What?"
"Please don't destroy your family because of me."
The sentence made me angry.
Not at her.
At how deeply they had convinced her that she was the cause of everything.
"You are not the reason."
She looked down.
"My illness started this."
"No."
I sat beside her.
"Someone choosing not to help you started this."
Her eyes filled with tears.
She wiped them quickly.
"I don't want you to hate them."
I looked toward my mother and sister.
"I don't know if hate is the right word."
"What is?"
I thought about it.
"Disappointment."
That word hurt more.
Because anger burns hot.
Disappointment stays.
My attorney called around noon.
I stepped outside before answering.
His name was Daniel Reeves.
I had spoken with him twice from Canada.
He was not a dramatic person.
That was one reason I trusted him.
He did not promise revenge.
He promised information.
"Nathan, I reviewed the documents you sent."
"And?"
"There are some issues."
I looked at the backyard.
The same yard where Lucy had been cleaning broken pieces of a plate.
"What kind of issues?"
"Your mother was listed as a joint account holder on one of the accounts where your transfers were deposited."
I closed my eyes.
I knew that part.
"What else?"
"There are multiple withdrawals that don't match the purpose you described."
"Meaning?"
"Meaning money intended for household expenses appears to have been used for personal purchases."
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"Can we prove that?"
"Some of it."
