Chương 11
She winced.
“I keep waiting for you to tell me it’s okay.”
“It isn’t.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that if you’re not going to do anything with it.”
Her eyes flashed.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make it sound like there’s one correct thing to do and everyone else is failing a test.”
I stared at her.
For a moment, I was back at the kitchen table when we were teenagers, helping her finish algebra homework while resenting her for not understanding it fast enough.
Maybe some habits survived because everybody involved fed them.
“What would you like me to say?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then maybe don’t ask me to make you feel better.”
“I didn’t.”
“You followed me outside.”
She looked away.
A pickup truck passed at the end of the street with a ladder rattling in its bed.
Neither of us spoke until the sound faded.
Then Vanessa said, “Caleb doesn’t know where the tournament money came from.”
“I figured.”
“I’m going to pay it back.”
“To Mom?”
“To Emma.”
I looked at her.
“How much?”
“Two hundred and fifty.”
“That was the deposit?”
“Yes.”
“Do not hand it to Mom.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Put it directly into Emma’s account.”
“Okay.”
“And send me the receipt.”
Her jaw tightened.
“You really don’t trust anybody.”
“Not with Emma’s money.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“I know.”
This time I was the one who said it.
Vanessa almost smiled.
Almost.
Then the front door opened.
My mother stepped onto the porch.
“Vanessa.”
Just her name.
Nothing else.
Vanessa looked back.
Mom did not tell her to come inside.
She did not need to.
The old machinery of our family still worked quietly.
Vanessa glanced at me.
Then, unexpectedly, she turned back toward the house and said, “Give me a minute.”
My mother’s face stiffened.
I watched something small but important happen.
Vanessa stayed beside my car.
My mother went inside.
Neither of them slammed a door.
That made it feel more serious.
“You should go,” Vanessa said.
“I am.”
“Claire.”
“What?”
“If Mom calls me later and says you’re trying to destroy the family, what do you want me to say?”
The question was so nakedly Vanessa that I almost laughed.
She was not asking what was true.
She was asking for the line she could use.
“I want you to say whatever you actually think.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
She looked toward the house again.
“I’m bad at that.”
“I know.”
There was no cruelty in it.
She nodded once.
Then I got into the car and drove away.
The credit union was three miles from Lena’s apartment.
I called first.
A branch manager named Kevin told me not to bring cash until they reviewed the account history and ownership structure.
He also asked whether I believed the withdrawals were unauthorized.
I hesitated.
That hesitation bothered me afterward.
“Yes,” I said.
The word made my mother’s actions sound like something that could exist outside our family.
Something with a category.
A process.
A consequence.
Kevin asked me to come in Monday with identification, the withdrawal records, and any documentation showing Emma was the beneficial owner of the funds.
“I have the original deposit records.”
“Bring them.”
“And the account was opened for a minor.”
“That matters.”
“My mother was listed as joint custodian.”
“That matters too.”
“So what happens?”
“We determine what authority she had under the account agreement.”
“And if she technically had authority?”
“Then the withdrawals may not be considered unauthorized by the institution, even if there was a separate understanding between you.”
My stomach sank.
“So she could take the money and it might be allowed?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“It sounds like you’re saying that.”
“I’m saying the exact account titling and agreement control what the credit union can do.”
I looked at the envelope on the passenger seat.
“Fine.”
“I also recommend not redepositing the cash until we know how it was withdrawn and accounted for.”
“Why?”
“Because preserving the current condition may help us document what occurred.”
I wrote that down on another receipt.
My life had apparently become receipts.
When I got back to Lena’s apartment, Emma ran toward me and stopped herself halfway.
Her doctor had warned against sudden exertion.
She converted the run into an awkward fast walk.
“You found it.”
I held up the blanket.
Her whole face changed.
“Grandpa found it.”
She took it from me and pressed it against her cheek.
“It smells weird.”
“Garage.”
“And detergent.”
“Grandpa washed it.”
She looked pleased by that.
Then suspicious.
“Grandma didn’t throw it away?”
“No.”
“Why did she say she did?”
I took off my coat.
Lena was standing in the kitchen doorway.
She did not rescue me.
Good friends are sometimes useless on purpose.
“I don’t know exactly.”
Emma rubbed the corner of the blanket between two fingers.
“Was she mad at me?”
“No.”
That answer I could give without hesitation.
“Was she mad at you?”
“Maybe.”
“Why?”
“Because adults can get angry when people make choices they don’t like.”
“What choice?”
I looked at the blanket.
“I’m trying to find us somewhere to live.”
Emma considered this.
“Grandma doesn’t want that?”
“I think Grandma has complicated feelings about it.”
“Like when I wanted to quit gymnastics but you said I had to finish the month?”
“Something like that.”
“You were annoying.”
“Thank you.”
“But you didn’t sell my stuff.”
Lena turned away very quickly.
I knew she was hiding a smile.
I crouched in front of Emma.
“No.”
She hugged the blanket closer.
“Can I keep this with me?”
“Always.”
She looked at me for another second.
“Even in the new house?”
My throat tightened.
“If we get it.”
“You said we would.”
“I said I was trying.”
“No, before.”
She was right.
May you like
The first night at Lena’s, when she asked whether she could choose where her books went, I had said yes.
I had been certain enough to risk it then.
