Chương 12
I almost smiled.
She dimmed the lights another notch.
“I’m going to give you some time, but if your pressure stays elevated, we’ll address it.”
“Okay.”
She looked at Evan.
“No investigations for thirty minutes.”
He lifted his hands.
“I agree.”
“Good.”
After she left, I stared at the phone in his hand.
“Did the video come?”
He checked.
“Yes.”
“Don’t open it.”
“I won’t.”
I turned toward the ceiling.
My body felt impossibly heavy.
The epidural had not worn off completely.
My legs belonged to someone else.
My abdomen felt distant and wounded.
My breasts ached in a way I had not expected yet.
Somewhere upstairs, my daughter was learning to breathe outside me while I was trying to understand whether my mother had planned something involving my savings.
The whole thing felt obscene.
Money should have seemed stupid now.
Eighteen thousand dollars.
A number in an account.
Digits on a screen.
But that money represented months I had worked through lunches.
It represented the year I skipped replacing my car.
It represented the weekend trips Evan and I did not take.
It represented choices.
It represented Lila.
“I need to see her.”
Evan put his phone down.
“As soon as they clear you.”
“No.”
“I know.”
“I mean now.”
He moved his chair closer.
“I know.”
I looked at him.
“What if she thinks I left her?”
“She doesn’t.”
“How do you know?”
“I don’t.”
The honesty hurt.
Then he added, “But I told her you were coming.”
I stared at him.
“You talked to her?”
“Of course.”
“What did you say?”
“That her mom was bossy.”
“Evan.”
“And that you loved her.”
My throat closed.
“And?”
“That she scared the hell out of us.”
I laughed weakly.
“That seems appropriate.”
“I also told her she owes us six weeks of rent.”
“That’s disgusting.”
“She didn’t pay.”
“She has no job.”
“Excuses.”
For the first time since Denise’s call, my shoulders loosened.
Evan leaned back.
Then he said, “Savannah.”
I knew from his tone that the quiet moment was over.
“What?”
“There’s something I’ve never told you.”
My stomach tightened.
“No.”
“What?”
“I cannot handle that sentence tonight.”
“It’s not about us.”
“That does not improve it.”
He rubbed his palms together.
“I should have told you months ago.”
“About what?”
“Your mother.”
I stared at him.
He looked toward the door as if considering escape.
“Last fall, before we told anyone you were pregnant, Patricia asked me how our finances were structured.”
“What does that mean?”
“She asked whether we kept separate accounts.”
My mouth went dry.
“What did you tell her?”
“That some were joint and some weren’t.”
“Why would she ask you that?”
“She made it sound casual.”
“Mom doesn’t do casual.”
“I know that now.”
A small pulse started behind my eyes.
“What else did she ask?”
“Whether you still had the investment account your grandfather left you.”
I blinked.
“My grandfather didn’t leave me an investment account.”
“I know.”
“Then why would she think that?”
“I told her she was mistaken.”
He paused.
“She said maybe she had the details wrong.”
I stared at him.
“My grandfather left me six thousand dollars when he died.”
“I know.”
“I used most of it for college.”
“I know.”
“There is no secret account.”
“I know.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looked ashamed.
“Because it sounded weird, not dangerous.”
I turned my face away.
That answer irritated me precisely because I understood it.
If he had told me then, I probably would have explained it away.
Mom confused something.
Mom misremembered.
Mom worried about Brianna.
Mom asked strange questions.
My family had survived for years inside reasonable explanations no reasonable person would have accepted.
“What happened after that?”
“She changed the subject.”
“That’s it?”
“Not exactly.”
I looked back at him.
“What else?”
“She asked whether you had named her as a beneficiary on anything.”
A cold sensation moved through my chest.
“What?”
“She laughed when she said it.”
He spoke quickly now.
“She said mothers always know these things.”
I stared at him.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
“My beneficiary?”
“On life insurance.”
I felt suddenly nauseated.
Evan reached for the basin near the bed, but I shook my head.
“I’m not going to throw up.”
“Okay.”
I breathed through my nose.
“At work, I have a life insurance policy.”
“I know.”
“You’re the beneficiary.”
“I know.”
“Mom knows that.”
His expression changed.
“How?”
“Because she asked me when we got married.”
“Why?”
“She said I should make sure it wasn’t still Dad from when I first enrolled.”
Evan sat very still.
“Was he ever your beneficiary?”
“Yes.”
Before marriage, before Lila, before any reason to think carefully about paperwork, I had listed my father.
Then I changed it to Evan.
I had forgotten the conversation completely until now.
“He knew?”
“Probably.”
Evan looked toward his phone.
“We need to tell the police.”
“About a weird financial question?”
“Yes.”
“That’s not evidence.”
“No, but it might matter.”
I knew he was right.
That annoyed me too.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Carol.
Evan answered.
“Mom?”
Her voice was loud enough for me to hear.
“I’m downstairs, and security won’t let me up because apparently your mother-in-law has turned childbirth into a criminal proceeding.”
I laughed despite the incision.
Evan put her on speaker.
“Mom, please lower your voice.”
“I am using my hospital voice.”
“This is not your hospital voice.”
“It is now.”
I wiped tears from my face.
Carol heard me.
“Savannah?”
“I’m here.”
“Oh, sweetheart.”
Her tone changed instantly.
“Is Lila okay?”
“She’s in the NICU.”
“I know.”
A pause.
“I saw Evan’s picture.”
“You already sent her pictures?”
I stared at him.
He looked guilty.
“She demanded proof of life.”
“I did not demand proof of life,” Carol said.
“I asked for a photograph of my granddaughter.”
“That’s considerably more normal.”
Carol continued.
“I have your bag.”
“Thank you.”
“And slippers.”
“I can’t feel my feet.”
May you like
“You will eventually.”
“Excellent planning.”
