Chương 10
Of course.
Everything in this family was temporary.
Temporary loans.
Temporary emergencies.
Temporary card authorizations.
Temporary lies that lasted eight years.
“What about Brooke’s money?”
Dad rubbed his temples.
“She added to the account over time.”
“How much of the twenty-seven thousand four hundred was actually hers?”
He did not answer immediately.
“About sixteen.”
My eyes opened.
“So eleven thousand of what you called Brooke’s house fund was still mine.”
He nodded.
Mom said, “The accounting is more complicated than that.”
“No, I think the arithmetic is finally becoming simple.”
She glared at me.
“You’re enjoying this.”
The accusation stunned me.
“Excuse me?”
“You always liked being right.”
Dad said her name sharply.
She ignored him.
“You come in here with your London job and your spreadsheets and your perfect little life and act like we’re criminals.”
“I don’t have a perfect life.”
“You certainly act like it.”
“I flew across an ocean yesterday and got called a cousin at my sister’s wedding.”
“And now you’re making everything about you.”
That did it.
I picked up my purse.
Dad stood.
“Athena, don’t leave yet.”
“I need documents.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“Of course you do.”
“Yes.”
I looked at Dad.
“Grandma’s estate records, bank statements, transfers, anything showing where the money went.”
“You’re not entitled to our private bank statements,” Mom said.
“I’m entitled to know what happened to money left to me.”
She stepped between me and the doorway again.
The similarity to the barn was so exact that for a second I could not believe it.
Different clothes.
Different door.
Same woman deciding whether I was allowed through.
I looked at her until she noticed it too.
Her face changed.
“Move.”
She did.
I walked outside.
The afternoon heat hit me immediately.
For several minutes I sat in the rental car without turning it on.
My heart was pounding too fast.
I opened my phone and searched for my grandmother’s estate attorney.
The firm still existed, though the attorney whose name I remembered had retired.
I called anyway.
A receptionist transferred me to a paralegal named Jocelyn who spoke carefully once I explained why I was calling.
“We may have archived files,” she said.
“I’m not asking you to give me anything improperly.”
“I understand.”
“I was a named beneficiary.”
“That should help.”
“What do you need from me?”
She listed identification documents and said she would confirm what could be released.
Before we hung up, I asked one more question.
“If someone had authority during estate administration, could they legally redirect a beneficiary’s distribution?”
“That depends entirely on the documents and what authority they had.”
“I know.”
I felt foolish.
“I’m not asking for legal advice.”
“I understand.”
Her voice softened.
“If the records are available, start there.”
It was such a simple instruction that I nearly cried.
Start there.
Not with Mom’s version.
Not Dad’s memory.
Not Brooke’s feelings.
Records.
Facts.
Things that did not change depending on who was in the room.
I drove back to the Magnolia Inn and found Brooke waiting in the lobby.
She was sitting on a floral sofa in jeans and a white T-shirt with BRIDE written across the chest in gold letters.
The absurdity of it stopped me near the entrance.
She stood.
Her eyes were swollen.
“You went to Mom and Dad’s.”
It was not a question.
“Who told you?”
“Mom.”
Of course.
Brooke looked toward the receptionist, then back at me.
“Can we go somewhere?”
“My room.”
She followed me upstairs.
Inside, she stared at the unmade bed and the room-service tray still sitting near the television.
“You ate a burger.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
She rubbed her arms.
“You always order burgers when you’re upset.”
I almost laughed.
Some families remembered your habits while forgetting your humanity.
“I learned something.”
Her face tightened.
“Mom said you were threatening them.”
“I didn’t threaten anyone.”
“She said you’re going after Grandma’s estate.”
“I asked for records.”
Brooke sat on the edge of the desk chair.
“What does that have to do with me?”
I stayed standing.
“Did Mom or Dad ever tell you where your house fund came from?”
Her eyes narrowed.
“I saved it.”
“Some of it.”
“What does that mean?”
I had promised myself I would let Brooke hear this from me before Marjorie or Garrett.
Now that the moment had arrived, I hated it.
“How much do you think is in the account?”
“About thirty.”
“No.”
She blinked.
“What?”
“How much did you put in yourself?”
“I don’t know exactly.”
“Think.”
Her defensiveness appeared immediately.
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“Because you need the right number.”
She stood.
“I came here to apologize.”
“Then apologize.”
She stared at me.
I had never spoken to her like that.
Brooke had always been allowed several conversational exits.
Jokes.
Tears.
Changing the subject.
Asking if I was still mad.
This time I gave her none.
Her mouth trembled.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you Mom didn’t want you at the wedding.”
“That’s one thing.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t correct Garrett.”
“Another.”
She swallowed.
“And I’m sorry I let Mom call you a cousin.”
“You weren’t there.”
“I found out afterward.”
I nodded.
“Okay.”
She looked confused.
“Okay?”
“I heard you.”
“That’s it?”
“For now.”
She wiped beneath one eye with her thumb.
“I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Nothing.”
“That’s worse.”
“Brooke.”
She sat again.
I took a breath.
“Mom and Dad borrowed more from your house fund than you think.”
Her whole face changed.
“How much?”
“Twenty-seven thousand four hundred is gone.”
She stared at me.
“No.”
“That’s what Dad said.”
“No.”
She stood so quickly the chair rolled backward into the desk.
“There was thirty-two thousand in there.”
“Apparently not anymore.”
“They borrowed ten.”
“I know what they told you.”
Brooke grabbed her phone.
I stepped forward.
“Don’t call them yet.”
“Why not?”
“Because there’s more.”
She froze.
May you like
I watched the fear move into her face.
“The account wasn’t originally yours.”
