Chương 3
Richard went completely still.
And that was when I understood that whatever had brought me back to New Jersey had not finished with us yet.
Richard looked at her so sharply that even Derek noticed.
"Linda."
My mother ignored him.
The ballroom had begun to recover around us, conversations rising again in careful little pockets, glasses clinking, someone laughing too loudly near the bar.
I wanted to walk out before whatever came next could attach itself to me.
Instead, I stayed.
Mom folded the lease once, then again, though it was already creased from the envelope.
"Your father had plans," she said.
I stared at her.
Richard stepped closer.
"Not here."
"You've said that twice."
She turned on him.
"And somehow everything important in my life has always been something we weren't supposed to discuss here."
Derek shifted his weight.
"Dad, what is she talking about?"
Richard's face hardened.
"Nothing that concerns you."
"Apparently everything concerns me tonight."
That almost sounded funny, but nobody laughed.
My mother looked at me again.
"After your father died, I found out he had been moving money."
I felt the navy box grow heavier in my hand.
"Moving it where?"
"I didn't know at first."
Richard exhaled through his nose.
"Linda, stop."
She shook her head.
"No."
The word came out with surprising steadiness.
"No, because you spent fifteen years telling me we'd dealt with it, and apparently we didn't deal with anything."
A woman carrying a champagne flute paused too close to us, realized she was listening, and changed direction.
Mom lowered her voice.
"Your father had accounts I didn't know about."
I thought of Aunt Patty's wooden box, the bank statements, my father's cramped handwriting on the letter that had changed the course of my life.
"I know."
Mom blinked.
"What?"
"I know about the account he set up for me."
Richard's face emptied.
It happened so fast that I almost missed it.
My mother did not.
"You knew?"
"Since I was seventeen."
Her hand tightened around the folded lease.
"Patricia."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Richard cursed under his breath.
Derek looked at him.
"Why would Aunt Patricia have anything?"
"Because Dad trusted her."
The answer came out before I could soften it.
My mother's eyes closed.
I hated myself for the accuracy of the blow.
When she opened them again, the anger was gone.
Something worse had replaced it.
"How much did she give you?"
I almost told her it was none of her business.
Then I remembered the way she had announced me to the room, the daughter she had told everyone about, as if my life existed only in the version she repeated at dinner parties.
"Enough to cover part of school and living expenses if I worked."
Richard gave a small, disbelieving shake of his head.
"That's not possible."
I looked at him.
"Why?"
He didn't answer.
Mom did.
"Because there was more."
The quartet moved into a slower piece.
I recognized nothing about the music except the cello, which sounded too mournful for a room with silver balloons tied to the chairs.
"What do you mean, more?"
Mom glanced toward the tables.
"We need to go somewhere private."
Richard immediately said, "No."
She turned.
"Excuse me?"
"We have guests."
"We have a daughter."
The words hit me so unexpectedly that my throat tightened.
For one stupid second, I nearly cried.
I looked away before anyone could see.
Derek noticed anyway.
He always had been good at noticing weakness.
This time he didn't smirk.
Mom led us through a side door into a small conference room lined with framed photographs of golf tournaments and charity dinners.
A half-eaten tray of cheese sat on a credenza beside a stack of cocktail napkins.
The ordinary mess of it made the whole thing feel stranger.
Richard closed the door behind us.
"I am asking you," he said to my mother, "to think before you start rewriting history."
She laughed once.
It was not a pleasant sound.
"That's rich."
Derek leaned against the wall.
"Can somebody please stop talking like I'm supposed to know what any of this means?"
Mom sat at the conference table.
I stayed standing.
Richard remained near the door, as if he might still prevent something simply by occupying the exit.
My mother flattened the lease in front of her and stared at it without reading.
"Your father had life insurance."
"I know."
"Not just the policy that paid the mortgage."
I said nothing.
"The larger policy named you as beneficiary."
My mouth went dry.
Richard looked at the floor.
I waited for the sentence to correct itself.
It didn't.
"How large?"
Mom rubbed her thumb over the edge of the paper.
"Seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars."
For a moment, all I heard was the ventilation system humming above us.
Aunt Patty's account had contained less than a tenth of that.
I had never heard about another policy.
"Where is it?"
Nobody answered.
I looked at Richard.
He still wouldn't look at me.
"Where is it?"
Mom's voice broke.
"It was redirected."
I actually laughed.
The sound frightened me.
"That's not a thing."
Richard finally raised his head.
"It is more complicated than that."
"Then uncomplicated it."
"Thea."
"Don't use my name like we're having a family disagreement about Thanksgiving."
Derek straightened.
"Wait."
He looked at his father.
"Redirected to who?"
Richard's jaw flexed.
"The beneficiary designation was disputed."
"By whom?"
I asked.
He didn't answer quickly enough.
My mother did.
"Me."
The room seemed to tilt, not dramatically, just enough that I put one hand on the back of a chair.
"You disputed Dad's life insurance?"
"I was your legal guardian."
"I was sixteen."
"Exactly."
"That doesn't make you the beneficiary."
"I know."
Her voice was barely audible.
Richard stepped in.
"There were questions about whether the designation had been properly updated."
"Updated from what?"
He stopped.
I looked between them.
"From what?"
My mother stared at her hands.
May you like
"From me."
Everything became very clear and very ugly at once.
