Chương 5
Not the welcoming mother from yesterday.
Not quite.
I leaned against the counter.
“Then help me understand.”
She watched me for a few seconds.
“What do you need?”
“Statements.”
“Which ones?”
“All of them.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“The military paperwork is ridiculous.”
I smiled.
“Government.”
The word worked.
Her suspicion softened into irritation.
“What exactly are they asking for?”
“Proof of assets, proof of transfers, debt obligations, household expenditures.”
I invented the list slowly enough to sound like I was remembering it.
Margaret frowned.
“They want household expenditures?”
“They’re trying to make sure I don’t have undisclosed liabilities.”
That part was plausible enough that she accepted it.
“I can prepare something.”
“I need originals.”
“No.”
The answer came too quickly.
I looked at her.
She corrected her tone.
“I mean, some originals are in storage.”
“Where?”
“The bank.”
“What bank?”
“Daniel, why are you interrogating me?”
I raised both hands.
“I’m not.”
“You sound like you are.”
“Sorry.”
That apology irritated me to give and calmed her to receive.
Her mouth loosened.
“I’ll gather what I can.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
Paige entered wearing pajama shorts and one of my old Army shirts.
She yawned, opened the refrigerator, and drank orange juice straight from the carton.
Margaret slapped her arm.
“Glass.”
“It’s my mouth.”
“It’s everyone’s juice.”
Paige noticed me.
“You’re up disgustingly early.”
“You’re up disgustingly late.”
“It’s six twenty.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
Then her gaze flicked toward the hallway leading downstairs.
“Where’s Gwen?”
“Sleeping.”
Paige opened the refrigerator again.
“She usually does breakfast.”
I let the silence answer her.
Paige glanced at Margaret.
Margaret said, “We can manage.”
“Can we?”
“You are thirty.”
“That doesn’t make me good at eggs.”
I watched Paige pull out a carton.
Her movements were careless, normal, almost childish.
It would have been easier if she looked cruel every second.
Instead she looked like my little sister, the same one who used to steal fries from my plate and cry when thunder shook the windows.
Then she said, “You should make Gwen eat more, by the way.”
I stared at her.
“She looks creepy.”
Margaret’s head turned sharply.
“Paige.”
“What?”
“Enough.”
Paige rolled her eyes.
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me she was sick?”
The egg carton stopped halfway to the counter.
Margaret did not move.
Paige looked at her.
That was the mistake.
Not what she said next.
The look.
Quick.
Automatic.
Permission-seeking.
“What do you mean sick?” Paige asked.
I smiled.
“Exactly what I said.”
“She’s always sick.”
“What kind?”
“I don’t know.”
“You live with her.”
“I don’t keep a medical chart.”
Margaret stepped between us with the coffee pot.
“She’s had some tests.”
I turned to her.
“What tests?”
“Routine things.”
“For what?”
“Daniel.”
“What?”
“You just came home.”
Her voice softened.
“Maybe spend one morning being home.”
I looked at my mother for a long moment.
Then I picked up my coffee.
“Sure.”
Paige exhaled.
Margaret turned toward the stove.
I walked downstairs.
Halfway there, I heard Paige whisper, “Does he know?”
Margaret answered so quietly I almost missed it.
“He knows something.”
I kept walking.
Gwen was awake when I entered the storage room.
She sat on the mattress with her cap in her lap.
“You were right,” I said.
Her face tightened.
“About what?”
“They’re scared.”
Gwen looked toward the door.
“Of you finding out?”
“No.”
I sat beside her.
“Of me finding the records.”
Gwen stared at me as if she had expected the answer and still hoped I would say something else.
“What records?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“That scares me more.”
“It should.”
She folded the cap once, then unfolded it.
“Daniel, if this is about the money, I need you to understand something.”
“I’m listening.”
“I don’t know where all of it went.”
“I didn’t ask if you did.”
“But she’ll say I do.”
I waited.
Gwen rubbed both palms over her knees.
“Three years ago, your mother opened a second account.”
“In whose name?”
“I thought yours.”
“You thought?”
“She said it was for taxes and property expenses.”
“Did you ever see it?”
“No.”
“Did you sign anything?”
Gwen hesitated.
My stomach tightened.
“What did you sign?”
“Some forms.”
“What forms?”
“I don’t know.”
I stood so quickly the mattress lifted beneath her.
“Gwen.”
“She said the bank needed a spouse signature because you were deployed.”
“What did the papers say?”
“I didn’t read all of them.”
I turned away and put both hands against the concrete wall.
That anger was not for her alone.
Part of it was for me.
I had spent years signing military forms after reading every line because mistakes could follow a person across continents, yet I had left my own household operating on trust and occasional phone calls.
Behind me, Gwen said, “You can be angry.”
“I am.”
“I know.”
“Not at you.”
“That’s not completely true.”
I looked back.
She was right.
The fact that she could say it made me ashamed.
“I wish you had read them.”
“So do I.”
“I wish you had called me.”
“I tried.”
“I know.”
The room became quiet.
My anger had nowhere clean to go.
That was probably why it felt so heavy.
Gwen lifted the cap.
“I was embarrassed.”
“About paperwork?”
“About everything.”
She pulled the cap over her head and adjusted the edge above one eyebrow.
“Your mother kept saying you were under enough pressure already.”
I sat down again.
“She said you needed to focus.”
“That sounds like her.”
“She said if I loved you, I wouldn’t make you worry about problems I could handle here.”
I closed my eyes.
That sounded exactly like her.
Margaret had turned sacrifice into a family religion long before I joined the Army.
She admired endurance when somebody else was doing the enduring.
“What happened after you signed?”
“Nothing that I noticed.”
“Then why bring it up now?”
“Because six months later, I got a letter.”
“What kind?”
“Collection notice.”
“For what?”
“A credit card.”
May you like
“In your name?”
She nodded.
