Chương 9
“I’m done guessing.”
“Give that to me.”
“What is it?” I asked.
Dad looked at Mom.
“She told me these were papers for our accountant.”
Mom’s face had drained of color.
Dad handed me the envelope.
Inside were printed copies of property statements.
Mine.
Not one.
Nine months of them.
Behind those were screenshots of emails.
Closing documents.
A photocopy of my driver’s license.
And, clipped together at the back, handwritten pages listing dates when I would be in Atlanta, business trips I had mentioned in the family chat, and weekends when my beach house was likely to be empty.
I looked at my mother.
She did not try to explain.
That was when I finally understood the worst part.
This had never been casual.
It had been organized.
I held the handwritten pages by their edges because touching them normally felt too intimate.
My mother had written my schedule in blue ink.
Atlanta client dinner.
Dallas trip.
Board retreat.
Kyle birthday.
Possible beach weekend.
The words were ordinary enough to belong on a refrigerator calendar.
Instead, they had been used to identify when my house would be empty.
Dad stared at the pages over my shoulder.
“I didn’t know those were in there.”
Mom gave him a look so full of contempt that it might have worked on him a month earlier.
“You never know where anything is.”
He did not flinch.
“That doesn’t answer why you had them.”
“They were notes.”
“For what?”
She turned toward me.
“You travel constantly.”
“I am aware.”
“You tell everybody your schedule.”
“In a family chat.”
“Exactly.”
The absurdity of that answer settled over us.
Harris asked whether he could photograph the materials before anyone handled them further.
I gave him the envelope.
Mom stepped forward.
“Those are mine.”
Harris looked at the documents.
“They appear to contain information belonging to your daughter.”
“I printed them.”
“That isn’t the same as ownership.”
She folded her arms.
I had never seen my mother lose control by becoming quieter.
Usually she expanded.
Her voice got bigger.
Her gestures sharpened.
She recruited witnesses.
Now she seemed to be pulling inward, conserving herself.
That scared me.
Kyle finally left the sedan.
He shut the door and walked toward us with both hands shoved into his shorts pockets.
“I need to say something.”
Mom said, “No, you don’t.”
Kyle stopped.
Dad looked at him.
“What?”
Kyle stared at the shell driveway.
“I knew she had Mara’s schedule.”
My throat tightened.
Dad’s face changed.
Mom closed her eyes briefly.
I said, “How?”
Kyle scratched the side of his nose.
“A couple months ago she asked me if you were going to that conference in Dallas.”
“You told her?”
“You had already told us.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
I waited.
He shifted his weight.
“I told her.”
“Why?”
“She said she wanted to know if you’d be around that weekend.”
“For what?”
“I thought she wanted to invite you to something.”
Mom laughed under her breath.
Kyle looked at her.
“Don’t.”
Her head snapped toward him.
He swallowed but kept going.
“Then later I saw a page in her purse with dates on it.”
“What dates?”
“Your trips.”
I felt something sharp behind my ribs.
“You saw this and said nothing?”
“I didn’t know what it was.”
“You just said you recognized my trips.”
“I thought she was keeping track because of family stuff.”
“Family stuff.”
“I know how that sounds now.”
“Do you?”
His jaw tightened.
“Yes.”
I hated that he looked ashamed.
It would have been easier if he had been defensive.
Dad asked, “When was this?”
“May.”
Dad turned toward Mom.
“You carried her schedule around for months.”
Mom said, “Everybody is making this sinister.”
Kyle looked at me.
“There’s more.”
Mom said his name sharply.
He ignored her.
That was becoming a family tradition.
“After Christmas, Mom asked if I still had your old iPad.”
I stared at him.
“What old iPad?”
“The one you gave me.”
Three years earlier, I had replaced a tablet and given Kyle the old one because his had cracked.
I had wiped it myself.
At least, I thought I had.
Kyle rubbed his face.
“I used it for maybe a month, then threw it in a drawer.”
“Why did she want it?”
“She said hers wasn’t charging.”
Mom said, “It wasn’t.”
Kyle kept his eyes on me.
“I gave it to her.”
My mouth went dry.
“Was it still connected to anything?”
“I don’t know.”
“You used it.”
“Not for long.”
“Was it logged into my accounts?”
“I thought you erased everything.”
“So did I.”
Harris asked, “Do you know where the device is now?”
Kyle looked at Mom.
Everyone did.
She lifted her chin.
“At home.”
I said, “You still have it?”
“It’s a tablet.”
“That belonged to me.”
“You gave it to Kyle.”
“And Kyle gave it to you because you said you needed one.”
“I did need one.”
“Did you use it to access my email?”
“No.”
She answered too fast.
Dad looked away.
Kyle whispered, “Mom.”
“I said no.”
Harris asked, “Would you voluntarily provide the device if requested as part of the report?”
Her whole body stiffened.
“I would need to speak to someone.”
“That is your right.”
That seemed to surprise her.
She had expected pressure and found procedure instead.
Procedure was harder to fight.
She looked at me.
“This is what you want?”
I stared at the brown envelope in Harris’s hands.
“I want to know what you did.”
“You know what I did.”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I keep finding out another thing five minutes later.”
For once, she had no immediate response.
A car passed behind us slowly, probably looking for a rental address.
The driver glanced at the patrol vehicle and kept going.
I suddenly became conscious of the heat again.
Sweat had gathered beneath my hair.
May you like
My mouth tasted metallic.
Dad picked up Mom’s cooler and moved it beneath the shade of the porch.
