Chương 7
“He criticized me constantly.”
“He criticized everybody.”
“That’s true.”
Grant laughed quietly.
“After he died, when Mom said he wanted me to have more money, I believed her because I wanted to.”
The honesty in that sentence made me uncomfortable.
He looked down again.
“I knew it wasn’t fair.”
I let the cold air sit between us.
“Then why didn’t you call me?”
“Because I had forty thousand dollars in credit card debt and two kids.”
“That explains it.”
“It doesn’t excuse it.”
“No.”
He nodded.
“No.”
The back door opened.
Mom stood there in the yellow kitchen light.
Her eyes were red, but she had wiped away whatever tears had caused it.
“Grant, I need to speak to Owen.”
Grant looked at me.
For the first time all evening, he seemed to be asking permission without saying it.
I nodded.
He stood.
Mom stepped aside to let him pass.
He paused beside her but did not touch her.
After the door closed, she remained on the porch.
“I found something.”
I waited.
She held Dad’s old desk key in her palm.
The brass had gone dark with age.
“I haven’t opened the bottom drawer since he died,” she said.
My heartbeat slowed into something heavy.
“Why now?”
“Because there is something in there I should have given you five years ago.”
I looked at the key in her palm and then at her face.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“That’s not possible.”
“I know what your father told me he put there.”
The cold seemed sharper all at once.
Mom wrapped her cardigan tighter around herself.
“He said there was something for you and something for Grant.”
“Letters?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“He was angry with me when he said it.”
I stood from the step.
“When?”
“Two days before he went back to the hospital.”
The timeline landed immediately.
That was four days after the unsigned deed should have been brought to him.
I stared at her.
“You knew there was something in that drawer for five years.”
She looked down at the key.
“I knew he said there was.”
“And you never opened it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Her mouth twisted.
“Because I was afraid.”
I almost laughed.
“That answer is doing a lot of work tonight.”
“I know.”
She did not defend herself.
That made it harder to stay angry in the clean, uncomplicated way I wanted.
I stepped past her into the kitchen.
The conversation in the dining room stopped the moment we entered.
Grant stood near the table with both hands in his pockets.
Lydia looked from Mom to me.
Mom raised the key slightly.
“Your father’s desk.”
Grant’s expression tightened.
“What about it?”
“There may be something in the bottom drawer.”
He stared at her.
“You’ve had the key this whole time?”
“Yes.”
“Of course you have.”
“Grant.”
“No, no, keep going.”
He gave a short, exhausted laugh.
“This is apparently the Thanksgiving where every ten minutes we discover another thing you forgot to mention for half a decade.”
Aunt Carol stood.
“I think maybe the rest of us should go.”
Mom looked at her as if she had forgotten anyone else was still in the room.
Carol gathered her purse from the sideboard.
Uncle Ray pushed back his chair with visible relief.
Ben helped Lydia collect their coats.
Lydia did not move toward the door.
Mom noticed.
“You’re leaving too.”
“No.”
“This is private.”
“You keep saying that after making it public.”
“Lydia.”
“I’m staying with Owen.”
I looked at her.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Grant glanced at Ben.
“You should probably take the escape route while you still have one.”
Ben pulled on his coat.
“I’m starting to think dating into this family should come with orientation.”
Lydia elbowed him lightly.
“Text me when you get home.”
“I’m leaving you here?”
“Yes.”
“With them?”
“Yes.”
Ben looked at the three of us.
“Okay, but if somebody starts throwing antique furniture, I’m not helping replace it.”
For the first time all evening, Mom almost smiled.
It vanished quickly.
Within five minutes the house had emptied except for the four of us.
The silence after everyone left felt different.
Less theatrical.
More dangerous.
Mom carried the key toward the hallway.
Dad’s desk was in the small front room he had used as an office.
I had not gone inside since arriving.
The door stood half open.
Mom pushed it wider.
The room was almost unchanged.
The same oak desk sat beneath the window.
His old brass lamp still leaned slightly to the left.
A wooden box held pencils that had probably dried out years ago.
The chair behind the desk had one cracked leather armrest.
Grant stopped in the doorway.
“Jesus.”
“What?” Lydia asked.
“He used to make me do homework in here.”
I looked at him.
“You never did homework.”
“I sat in here while homework existed nearby.”
Lydia snorted.
Mom crossed to the desk.
Her hand hovered over the bottom drawer.
She did not insert the key.
I watched her breathing.
“You want me to do it?” I asked.
“No.”
She finally bent and pushed the key into the lock.
It resisted.
She jiggled it twice.
The lock clicked.
The drawer opened three inches and stopped.
Mom pulled harder.
Something inside scraped.
Grant stepped forward and lifted the drawer slightly.
It came free.
Inside were old tax folders, a dead calculator, two checkbooks, a flashlight, and a manila envelope folded at one corner.
My name was written across the front.
Grant saw another envelope beneath it.
His name.
Neither of us moved.
Mom sat down in Dad’s chair.
“I never saw those.”
Grant gave her a look.
“I believe you.”
The sarcasm was automatic, but weak.
I reached into the drawer.
The envelope had yellowed slightly along the edges.
Dad’s handwriting was unmistakable.
Block letters.
Heavy pressure.
He had written everything as though the paper might try to escape.
I handed Grant his envelope.
May you like
He took it carefully.
“Should we open these together?”
