Chương 9
Got some statements.
Come by Mom’s tonight.
Phedra read my face.
“What?”
“He says he has records.”
“Are you going?”
“Yes.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
She hated that answer.
“I don’t like it.”
“Neither do I.”
“Then don’t go.”
“I need to see what they give me voluntarily.”
“And if they lie?”
“They probably will.”
She looked away.
“That doesn’t bother you enough.”
“It bothers me plenty.”
“You get quiet when you’re angry.”
“I’ve always been quiet.”
“No.”
She turned back.
“You get precise.”
That stayed with me all afternoon.
At seven, I parked Godfrey’s SUV outside Selina’s house.
The porch light was on.
Someone had cooked dinner.
I smelled roast chicken before I opened the door.
Selina had set the table for three.
Godfrey sat with a thick envelope beside his plate.
My mother came from the kitchen wearing an apron I had not seen since childhood.
“I made your favorite.”
I looked at the chicken.
“You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered.”
There were potatoes with rosemary, carrots, gravy, and the cornbread she used to make on Sundays.
For one ridiculous second, hunger overpowered suspicion.
I sat.
Selina served me too much food.
Godfrey watched.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
“How’s Phedra?”
“Stable.”
Selina whispered, “Thank God.”
I cut into the chicken.
It was good.
That annoyed me.
We ate for several minutes without discussing money.
Selina complained about a neighbor’s dog digging under the fence.
Godfrey talked about a customer who insisted an engine noise had started only after an oil change even though the car had arrived on a tow truck.
I laughed despite myself.
That frightened me more than anger.
This was how families survived terrible things.
They could sit beside them and pass the gravy.
Finally, Godfrey pushed the envelope toward me.
“Records.”
I wiped my hands and opened it.
Bank statements.
Receipts.
Invoices.
Copies of checks.
At first glance, it looked thorough.
Too thorough.
I turned pages slowly.
There were payments for roofing, plumbing, furniture, property taxes, utilities, and vehicle repairs.
Then transfers to an account labeled GDF AUTO SERVICES.
Thirty thousand.
Twenty-five thousand.
Forty thousand.
Another twenty.
I looked up.
Godfrey did not blink.
“That’s the shop.”
“I gathered that.”
“It was loans.”
“From whom?”
“Mom.”
Selina put down her fork.
“I intended to replace it.”
“With whose money?”
She stiffened.
“The family money.”
I turned another page.
There were medical expenses.
Two clinic payments.
Exactly as Phedra had said.
Then a withdrawal for twelve thousand dollars made three days after the first clinic visit.
The description was simply CASHIER’S CHECK.
“What was this?”
Selina leaned closer.
“I don’t remember.”
Godfrey took the statement.
“That could be the roof.”
“The roof invoice is two pages later.”
“Maybe materials.”
“There’s a materials invoice.”
He handed the page back.
“It was years ago.”
“Eleven months.”
Selina reached for her water.
“We had many expenses.”
I nodded and kept reading.
Then I found something small enough that they had probably expected me to miss it.
A transfer fee.
International.
The destination account was partially masked.
The amount was eighty-five thousand dollars.
I stared at the date.
It had been sent six weeks after Phedra’s diagnosis.
“What’s this?”
Nobody answered.
I slid the statement into the center of the table.
Godfrey looked at it.
His face lost color.
Selina did not even look down.
That told me she already knew exactly which transaction I meant.
“Mom?”
She folded her napkin carefully.
“There are things about this family you were not here to understand.”
“Where did eighty-five thousand dollars go?”
Godfrey stood.
“I need another drink.”
“Sit down.”
He looked at me.
I had not raised my voice.
Slowly, he sat.
Selina pressed both palms against the table.
Then she said, “It went to your father.”
The room became completely still.
My father had been dead for twelve years.
I looked at Selina and waited for her to correct herself.
She did not.
Godfrey reached for his glass even though it was empty.
“My father is dead.”
Selina’s eyes stayed on the table.
“The man who raised you is dead.”
The sentence took several seconds to arrange itself into meaning.
I looked at Godfrey.
He would not meet my eyes.
“What does that mean?”
Selina inhaled through her nose.
“Your biological father is alive.”
The house seemed suddenly unfamiliar.
The clock above the stove clicked once.
Then again.
I heard a car pass outside.
I heard Godfrey swallow.
I heard my own voice say, “You told me Dad died in the hospital.”
“He did.”
“Then what are you talking about?”
“The man you called Dad was your father in every way that mattered.”
“That is not an answer.”
Selina’s mouth tightened.
“You were two when I met Winston.”
Winston.
I had not heard my father’s first name spoken in years.
Everyone had called him Mr. Cole, Uncle Win, Dad, or sir when he was angry.
He had taught me to drive in a rusted pickup.
He had hit me once in my entire childhood and apologized for it until I was twenty.
He had died with my hand on his forearm.
Now Selina was separating him from me with grammar.
“Who is my biological father?”
She finally looked up.
“His name is Victor Hale.”
I waited for recognition.
None came.
“Should that mean something to me?”
“No.”
“Then why did you send him eighty-five thousand dollars?”
Godfrey muttered, “Damian.”
I turned on him.
“You knew.”
He stared at the table.
“How long?”
“Not that long.”
“How long?”
“Two years.”
I pushed my chair back.
Selina stood immediately.
“Sit down.”
That nearly made me laugh.
“You don’t get to tell me that.”
“I am still your mother.”
“And apparently that’s the only relationship in this room I can verify.”
Her face flinched.
I regretted it and meant it at the same time.
She sat again first.
I did not.
“Tell me why my money went to Victor Hale.”
May you like
Selina rubbed her thumb against the edge of her napkin.
“He contacted me.”
