Chương 7
My mother had cried when I arrived.
She had held me.
She had looked broken.
People could lie and still feel pain.
That was the part I hated most.
I opened the door.
She stepped inside.
The smell of her perfume immediately reminded me of childhood.
Sunday mornings.
Church clothes.
Her fixing my collar before family pictures.
Memories were dangerous.
They made people seem safer than they were.
Teresa placed the grocery bag on the counter.
“I brought food.”
I stared at her.
“Mom.”
“I know.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“You don't get to do normal things right now.”
Her face tightened.
“You think I don't know that?”
“Then stop acting like we can sit down and eat.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Derek stayed near the hallway.
My mother noticed.
“You brought him here.”
I laughed quietly.
“I brought him here?”
She looked at me.
“You were always better at making other people look guilty.”
The sentence surprised me.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it sounded like something she had been holding inside for years.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She looked away.
“Nothing.”
“No.”
I stepped closer.
“You said it. Explain it.”
Her fingers tightened around the grocery bag.
“You and Derek were always different.”
“That is not an explanation.”
“It is.”
“No, it isn't.”
She sighed.
“Your father admired you because you followed every rule.”
She looked toward the hallway where Arthur sat.
“Derek needed more help.”
“So you think I was loved because I was easier?”
She did not answer.
That answer hurt more than words.
My mother sat down slowly.
“I made mistakes.”
I waited.
She looked older than she had two days earlier.
“I thought if I kept this family together, eventually everyone would forgive each other.”
“Keep it together how?”
Her eyes moved toward the stairs.
“By stopping things from getting worse.”
“That is what everyone says.”
“I know.”
“Clara said the same thing.”
My mother looked at me.
“What?”
“People keep saying they were protecting me.”
The room became quiet.
My mother's face changed.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
“You found her files.”
Derek immediately stepped forward.
“You knew?”
Teresa looked at him.
“I knew she was looking.”
My chest tightened.
“You knew?”
“I knew she was asking questions.”
“And you didn't tell me?”
She looked at me.
“She didn't want you involved.”
“That isn't your decision.”
“No.”
Her voice cracked.
“But it became mine when I saw what happened to her.”
The kitchen went silent.
I stared at her.
“What happened to her?”
Teresa closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she whispered.
“Clara came to me the night before she died.”
Derek looked stunned.
“You never told me that.”
“Because she asked me not to.”
I felt something inside me break.
Everyone had pieces of my wife's final days.
Everyone except me.
“What did she say?”
My mother looked down.
“She said she had proof.”
“Of what?”
“She didn't say.”
“That's impossible.”
“She said if she told too many people, they would know she was close.”
“Who?”
My mother looked toward the dark window.
“Someone at Northline.”
The name hung in the room.
“Did she seem afraid?”
My mother swallowed.
“Yes.”
“Why didn't you call me?”
Her eyes filled.
“I tried.”
The answer stopped me.
“What?”
“I called your company emergency line.”
Nobody moved.
“What happened?”
“They told me your assignment was classified and communication was restricted.”
I looked at Derek.
Then back at my mother.
“Who told you that?”
She hesitated.
“William Vance.”
The anger came back immediately.
“He talked to you?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“The morning Clara died.”
The room felt colder.
“What did he say?”
My mother looked ashamed.
“He said Clara had suffered an emotional episode.”
My jaw tightened.
“He called my wife unstable?”
“He said she was overwhelmed.”
“And you believed him?”
Her face collapsed slightly.
“I wanted to.”
The honesty surprised me.
She wiped her eyes.
“I wanted there to be a simple explanation.”
Nobody spoke.
Because everyone knew simple explanations were the easiest ones to accept.
Then Arthur made a noise from the hallway.
A frustrated sound.
He was trying to speak.
I moved toward him.
“Dad?”
He grabbed my wrist.
His grip was stronger than I expected.
He pointed toward the laptop.
Then toward Teresa.
My mother looked frightened.
“Arthur, please.”
My father shook his head.
The movement was small.
But firm.
He pointed again.
Not accusing.
Warning.
I looked at him.
“Dad, what are you trying to tell me?”
His mouth moved.
The words struggled.
“Bea.”
Everyone froze.
Aunt Beatrice.
My mother whispered.
“No.”
Arthur looked at her.
“Bea.”
Derek stepped closer.
“Dad, are you saying Aunt Beatrice?”
My father nodded.
A slow, painful movement.
My mother sat down.
Her hands covered her face.
“No.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
She didn't answer.
“Mom.”
Her voice was barely audible.
“Your aunt helped organize the funeral.”
“I know.”
“She also helped organize everything before the funeral.”
“What does that mean?”
My mother looked at me.
“She was the one who told me not to let anyone move Clara's things.”
I stared.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
That was not believable anymore.
Nobody in that room had the luxury of not knowing.
The laptop suddenly turned on.
All of us looked toward it.
The screen lit up.
The folder was still open.
But the message from Clara was gone.
Deleted.
My heart dropped.
Derek moved toward it.
“No.”
The flash drive was still connected.
Someone had remotely accessed the laptop.
I looked at my family.
Then at the dark window.
Then at the empty street outside.
Someone knew we had found Clara's files.
And they had just erased the first thing they were afraid we would read.
The screen remained frozen for three seconds before the laptop went completely dark again.
Nobody moved.
The quiet was worse than the shouting had been.
I could hear the refrigerator humming in the kitchen.
May you like
I could hear the clock above the doorway ticking.
I could hear Lily walking slowly down the stairs.
