Chương 5
"By interfering in our marriage."
"How?"
"You don't know her the way I do."
Rebecca pushed away from the counter.
"Mom worships you."
"Shut up, Rebecca."
Lily flinched.
Julian heard the silence after it.
His next words came carefully.
"Are the kids there?"
"Yes."
"Jesus Christ, Sloan."
"What?"
"You put me on speaker in front of them?"
"They've spent eleven years living inside your version."
His breathing changed.
"I was protecting this family."
"From what?"
"My mother."
Rebecca covered her mouth.
Not because she was shocked.
Because she was trying not to speak.
"Protecting us how?"
I asked.
Julian didn't answer.
I picked up one of the photographed invitations on my phone.
"Your mother begged me to come."
"She manipulates people."
"She wrote that she respected my need for space."
"Exactly."
"What does that mean?"
"That's how she works."
"By respecting space?"
"By making herself look generous."
Leo whispered, "Wow."
Julian heard him.
"Leo, buddy, you don't understand what's going on."
Leo leaned toward the phone.
"Then explain it."
"Not like this."
"Why not?"
"Because this is adult stuff."
Leo sat back.
His face went blank.
Julian had used that phrase for years whenever questions became inconvenient.
I had used it too.
The recognition made me ashamed.
"Where are the education accounts?" I asked.
Julian stopped breathing for half a beat.
Rebecca looked at me sharply.
"What education accounts?"
"Don't."
His voice was suddenly flat.
"Don't what?"
"Let Rebecca wind you up."
"Where are they?"
"We can discuss finances when I get home."
"That's Tuesday."
"When?"
"Tomorrow."
"No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I mean don't come here tonight."
"It's my house."
"And I'm asking you not to come here tonight."
Another silence.
This one carried something different.
Calculation.
"Sloan," he said quietly, "put the cedar box back."
My hand tightened around the phone.
"It is back."
Rebecca stared at me.
"Then we can talk tomorrow."
"Why are you so worried about the box?"
"I'm worried about you turning private family matters into something they're not."
"What's the notebook?"
He said nothing.
Lily looked at me.
Rebecca mouthed, Notebook?
I held up one finger.
"Julian?"
"You went through that too?"
"What's 'maintain distance'?"
The line went dead.
For several seconds, we all stared at my phone.
Leo spoke first.
"Dad hung up."
"Yes."
Rebecca's face had lost color.
"What notebook?"
I opened my photos.
She took the phone from me and scrolled.
At first, she looked merely confused.
Then she reached one page and stopped.
Her finger hovered over three handwritten lines.
"Go back."
I did.
She enlarged a photograph.
"That's Grant's name."
"I know."
"No."
Rebecca looked at me.
"You don't understand."
"Then tell me."
She read silently again.
"These aren't notes about family arguments."
"What are they?"
Her eyes lifted.
"These are instructions."
"To who?"
"I don't know."
She zoomed in until Julian's handwriting broke into pixels.
"Look at the dates."
I looked.
Several entries appeared in late August every year, immediately before the beach trips.
Grant — reinforce Sloan refuses.
Mom — redirect questions re kids.
Rebecca — mention Sloan comments if needed.
My stomach turned.
Rebecca scrolled faster.
Then she stopped so abruptly her nail clicked against the screen.
"Here."
The entry was six years old.
Mom considering direct trust contact.
Delay.
Possible signature issue.
Nobody moved.
Rebecca read it again.
"Signature issue?"
I said.
She looked toward the cedar box hidden upstairs behind Julian's desk.
"I think we need to stop assuming those invitations are the worst thing he hid."
Rebecca handed my phone back as if the screen had become hot.
"Do you have access to your tax returns?"
The question was so ordinary that for a second I didn't understand why she was asking it.
"Joint returns?"
"Anything with signatures."
"Yes."
"Actual copies?"
"I think so."
"Don't think."
Her voice sharpened, then softened.
"Sorry."
I looked toward the hallway.
"There's a filing cabinet in the basement."
"Does Julian use it?"
"For old records."
"Can he access it remotely?"
Leo snorted.
"It's a filing cabinet."
Rebecca glanced at him.
"That may be the best news I've heard today."
I hated how quickly our kitchen had begun to sound like an investigation.
I hated more that I was participating.
"Why signatures?"
I asked.
Rebecca folded her arms.
"Because Mom was considering contacting your kids' trusts directly, and Julian wrote possible signature issue."
"That doesn't mean he forged anything."
"No."
She held my gaze.
"But it means he was worried about a signature."
Lily was already moving toward the basement door.
"Where are you going?"
"To get the tax stuff."
"No."
She stopped.
"Mom."
"Why?"
"Because I said so."
Her mouth flattened.
I heard myself using authority because I was scared, and she heard it too.
"I'm not five."
"I know."
"Then stop acting like I am."
"Give me ten minutes where I don't have to be perfect."
The words came out harsher than I intended.
Lily went still.
I pressed my fingertips against my forehead.
"I'm sorry."
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then she sat on the bottom stair.
"Fine."
That was as close to forgiveness as either of us could manage.
The basement smelled faintly of detergent and concrete dust.
I turned on the fluorescent light and immediately wished I hadn't.
Every unfinished household task seemed to be waiting for me down there.
A broken lamp.
Two bags of clothes meant for donation.
A box labeled CHRISTMAS that had not been opened last December because Julian said he hated clutter.
The filing cabinet stood beside the furnace.
Its bottom drawer stuck halfway.
I tugged once, then harder, and a stack of folders slumped forward.
Our tax returns were arranged by year in green hanging files.
Julian liked categories.
Julian liked systems.
Julian liked knowing where everything was.
I carried seven years upstairs.
Rebecca had moved the pie aside and cleared the table.
Lily sat beside Leo now.
Neither was eating.
I spread the returns out.
May you like
"What are we looking for?"
"Anything that doesn't look like your signature."
