Chương 9
I waited.
Dad looked miserable.
“After college, she kept using it.”
“That still doesn’t explain anything.”
Mom finally spoke.
“Your name was on it too.”
For a second I thought I had heard her wrong.
“My name?”
Dad nodded once.
I stared at him.
“What account?”
“The savings account your grandmother started.”
I stopped breathing properly.
Grandma Sinclair had died eight years earlier.
She had left small amounts to both of us.
I received mine directly.
Brooke had been younger and still living at home, so Mom helped manage hers.
At least that was what I had been told.
“How is my name on Brooke’s account?”
Dad looked at Mom.
Mom said, “Because it wasn’t Brooke’s account originally.”
The air in the room seemed to thin.
“What are you talking about?”
My mother rubbed both hands over her face.
“The money your grandmother left wasn’t divided the way you thought.”
I put my purse down.
“How was it divided?”
Neither answered.
“Dad.”
He looked toward the window.
Mom’s voice came quietly.
“Your grandmother left forty thousand dollars to you.”
I stared at her.
“No.”
“She did.”
“I got twelve.”
“I know.”
My chest went cold.
I could hear a lawn mower somewhere down the street.
A dog barked twice.
Someone’s truck changed gears on the highway.
Ordinary sounds.
Impossible room.
“Where did the rest go?”
Mom sat down slowly.
“We needed it.”
I did not move.
“For what?”
“The house.”
Dad answered this time.
“We were behind.”
I looked at him.
“And you took twenty-eight thousand dollars from Grandma’s inheritance.”
“We intended to put it back.”
My mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Mom’s eyes filled with tears.
I hated that my first instinct was still to feel sorry for her.
“So Brooke’s house fund,” I said slowly, “was partly my money.”
Dad looked down.
“Yes.”
“And then you spent that too.”
No one answered.
I picked up the legal pad and looked again at the number circled beneath the wedding balance.
Twenty-seven thousand four hundred.
For the first time, I understood why my mother had looked terrified when Marjorie called.
The wedding bill was not the worst thing sitting in that kitchen.
Not even close.
I put the legal pad down because my hands had started shaking.
My mother watched me as if I might break something.
That almost made me angry enough to laugh.
She had spent twenty-eight thousand dollars that belonged to me, then spent most of what remained after everyone began calling it Brooke’s house fund, and now she looked worried about the furniture.
“When?”
My voice sounded flat.
Dad answered.
“Grandma’s estate closed about seven years ago.”
“I know when she died.”
“Athena—”
“When did you take the money?”
He glanced at Mom.
“Within the first year.”
I stared at him.
“So when I sent you twelve thousand for the business three years later, you had already taken twenty-eight thousand from me.”
Neither of them spoke.
I nodded once.
The room felt very quiet.
“That is impressive.”
Mom flinched.
“Don’t be sarcastic.”
“I’m trying very hard not to scream.”
“We were in trouble.”
“You were always in trouble.”
“That’s easy for you to say now.”
“No, Mom, it was easy for you to say every time you called me.”
She stood again.
Her chair scraped across the tile.
“Your father nearly lost the house.”
“And you decided Grandma’s money was yours.”
“We decided keeping a roof over our heads mattered more than letting money sit in an account.”
“It wasn’t sitting.”
“It was family money.”
“It was my money.”
“You didn’t need it.”
Something in me went still.
Dad said, “Diane, stop.”
But she had already said it.
The sentence hung there with an awful clarity.
Not we were desperate.
Not we made a mistake.
Not we thought we could replace it.
You didn’t need it.
I looked at her.
“How did you decide that?”
She folded her arms again, defensive now.
“You were doing well.”
“I was twenty-seven.”
“You had a good job.”
“I had student loans.”
“You managed.”
“Yes.”
I laughed softly.
“I managed because I thought twelve thousand dollars was all Grandma left me.”
Mom looked away.
That told me something else.
“You knew I thought that.”
She did not answer.
“Did you forge anything?”
Dad stepped forward.
“No.”
I turned to him.
“Then explain how my money moved without me.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
“The account was structured badly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Your grandmother named your mother as trustee.”
“For me?”
“For the estate account.”
“I was twenty-six.”
“I know.”
“So why was there a trustee?”
“It wasn’t technically a trust by then.”
He winced at his own wording.
“Dad.”
“There were multiple beneficiary accounts, and your mother had authority during settlement.”
I stared at him.
“Authority to distribute, not steal.”
Mom slapped one palm against the counter.
“Enough.”
“No.”
“You keep using that word.”
“What word?”
“Steal.”
I stepped closer.
“What would you prefer?”
“We borrowed.”
“From someone who didn’t know.”
“We intended to repay it.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because you would have said no.”
For a second, no one moved.
Even Mom seemed to realize what she had admitted.
I nodded.
“Thank you.”
She frowned.
“For what?”
“For finally answering honestly.”
Dad sat down again.
He suddenly looked older than he had ten minutes earlier.
“Your grandmother’s lawyer may still have records.”
I looked at him.
Mom whipped around.
“Richard.”
“What?”
“We do not need to turn this into some legal circus.”
Dad’s mouth tightened.
“She’s going to find out.”
“She already knows.”
“No, Diane.”
He looked at me.
“She doesn’t know all of it.”
My stomach dropped.
“What else?”
Mom swore under her breath.
Dad stared at the legal pad.
“The money did not all go to the house.”
I waited.
“How much?”
“About eighteen.”
I did the subtraction automatically.
“Ten thousand is missing.”
“It went into the business.”
Mom cut in.
“That saved the company.”
Dad looked ashamed.
May you like
“Temporarily.”
I closed my eyes.
