Chương 12
I stared at the carpet.
“What does that mean?”
“It means I didn’t ask enough questions.”
There it was.
His lifelong specialty, turned into a sentence.
I pressed my lips together.
“Where is Mom?”
“At the house.”
“Put her on.”
“She’s upset.”
“I don’t care.”
“That’s not like you.”
I almost laughed.
“No, it isn’t.”
A minute later, my mother came on the line.
“What now?”
Her irritation struck me as almost surreal.
“There is a document in Grandma’s estate file saying I received my full inheritance.”
She did not answer.
“Did you sign it?”
“Athena.”
“Yes or no.”
“It was paperwork.”
My stomach dropped.
“You signed my name.”
“I handled what had to be handled.”
“You forged my signature.”
“Do not use that word.”
“What word would you prefer?”
“You were overseas.”
“I lived in New York then.”
“That’s not the point.”
“It’s three hours away.”
“You were busy.”
“So you signed my name because I was busy?”
“Nothing was stolen.”
I gripped the edge of the dresser until my knuckles hurt.
“Twenty-eight thousand dollars disappeared.”
“It went to this family.”
“It went somewhere I did not authorize.”
“You benefited from that house too.”
“I had already moved out.”
“You grew up there.”
I shut my eyes.
There was no argument too ridiculous for her if it let her keep moving.
“You are going to send me every record you have.”
“No.”
The answer came instantly.
I opened my eyes.
“No?”
“I am not going to let you tear through our finances because you’re angry about Brooke’s wedding.”
“This is not about the wedding anymore.”
“Of course it is.”
“No, Mom.”
“You have been waiting for an excuse to punish us.”
I almost said something vicious.
Instead, I breathed once.
“What exactly do you think I’m punishing you for?”
She went quiet.
I waited.
Finally she said, “You don’t understand what things were like.”
“Then explain.”
“Your father was drowning.”
“I know.”
“You had a career.”
“I know.”
“You had savings.”
“How do you know what I had?”
“You always had money.”
That sentence hurt in a strange way.
Not because it was cruel.
Because it revealed how completely she had reduced my life to an available resource.
I had money.
Therefore I could lose some.
I had no children.
Therefore I had fewer responsibilities.
I lived far away.
Therefore I was less family.
“I’m sending the records to an attorney,” I said.
Mom inhaled sharply.
“You wouldn’t.”
“I would.”
“You’re going to sue your own parents?”
“I said I’m talking to an attorney.”
“Same thing.”
“No, it isn’t.”
“You’ll destroy your father’s business.”
“Then maybe Dad shouldn’t have funded it with money that wasn’t his.”
She made a sound like I had struck her.
I hated that some part of me still reacted to it.
“You’ve changed,” she said.
I looked at my reflection in the dark television.
“I hope so.”
She hung up.
I stood there holding the phone for a while.
Then I cried.
Not dramatically.
No collapse.
No screaming.
I sat on the carpet beside the bed and cried because anger was easier than grief, and the anger had finally run out of room.
At six twenty, Brooke texted.
I told him.
That was all.
I waited.
Five minutes passed.
Then ten.
Finally another message came.
He left.
I called her.
She answered immediately.
“Where did he go?”
“I don’t know.”
Her voice was thick.
“He just took his keys.”
“Did he say anything?”
“He asked me how long I’d known.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth.”
“What truth?”
“That I knew Mom borrowed ten and that I didn’t tell him.”
I could hear her breathing.
“And then I told him I found out today it was more.”
“That’s good.”
“No, it’s not.”
“You told him.”
“He looked at me like I was a stranger.”
I sat on the edge of the bed.
“Brooke.”
“He asked why I didn’t tell him about you either.”
I said nothing.
“I told him I was scared he’d think my family was a mess.”
Her laugh broke halfway through.
“Which is pretty funny now.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he didn’t care that our family was a mess.”
Her voice cracked.
“He cared that I helped lie about it.”
That sounded fair.
It also hurt to hear.
“Did he say he was leaving you?”
“No.”
“Then don’t decide for him.”
“I think he hates me.”
“He’s angry.”
“That’s the same thing.”
“No.”
Brooke sniffed.
“You don’t know that.”
“No, I don’t.”
There was silence.
Then she whispered, “I hate that you’re not fixing this.”
I almost smiled.
“I know.”
“I mean it.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“You’re doing it.”
“I’m crying in a hotel parking lot.”
“That still counts.”
She laughed once, unwillingly.
The sound loosened something in my chest.
“Where are you?”
“Behind the restaurant near the interstate.”
“Why?”
“I didn’t want to go to Mom’s.”
“Good.”
“That sounded judgmental.”
“It was.”
She laughed again, weaker this time.
“Garrett’s mom called him.”
“Of course she did.”
“She knows something’s wrong.”
“What did he tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
I heard a car pass near her.
“Brooke, go somewhere safe.”
“I’m safe.”
“Go home.”
“What if he’s there?”
“Then you talk.”
“What if he isn’t?”
“Then you shower, eat something, and sleep if you can.”
“That sounds suspiciously like advice.”
“It’s basic survival.”
She was quiet.
“Athena?”
“Yeah?”
“Are you going to sue Mom and Dad?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would you tell me if you decided?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what this time?”
“All of it.”
I looked down at my bare feet.
My toenail polish was chipped from the flight.
“I believe you mean that.”
“Is that enough?”
“No.”
She inhaled shakily.
“Okay.”
It was the first time I had ever heard her accept an answer she did not like without bargaining.
We hung up.
May you like
At seven, I checked out of the Magnolia Inn.
My flight was scheduled for nine thirty, but I could not imagine sitting on a plane for eighteen hours pretending the ground beneath my life had not shifted.
