Chương 9
A mechanic I had never met put five hundred dollars in after seeing a post Megan shared.
There had been bake sales, a silent auction, envelopes slipped under my apartment door, and one check from a woman in Akron whose son had died of leukemia twelve years earlier.
I had stopped tracking individual names once the total passed thirty thousand because every donation made me cry.
“How much was left?”
My father did not answer quickly enough.
“How much?”
“About nine thousand.”
I stared at him.
“That account was closed.”
My mother said, “Eventually.”
“Eventually?”
My voice came out too loud.
A nurse at the station looked over.
I lowered it.
“The bank sent me a closing statement.”
My mother looked at my father.
He rubbed his jaw.
“You were in no condition to deal with paperwork.”
The sentence made something sharp move through me.
“What did you do?”
My mother spoke before he could.
“We handled some things.”
“What things?”
“The funeral bills.”
“I paid the funeral bills.”
“Not all of them.”
I stepped closer.
“What did you pay?”
“Flowers.”
I laughed once.
She looked wounded.
“You used money people gave to save my daughter to buy flowers for her funeral?”
“It was for her.”
“No.”
My voice shook.
“It was because she died.”
My father said, “Clara.”
I turned on him.
“Do not tell me to calm down.”
“I wasn’t going to.”
“Then tell me where the rest went.”
He looked at my mother.
She said nothing.
He finally answered.
“Into the account.”
I felt the hallway tilt again.
“How much?”
“Just over seven thousand.”
Megan whispered, “Jesus.”
My mother said, “It was still meant for you.”
I stared at her.
“Those people did not give that money to me.”
“They gave it for your family.”
“They gave it for Lily’s treatment.”
“She was gone.”
“Yes.”
The word cracked out of me.
“She was gone.”
My mother started crying again.
I had no sympathy left for the sound.
“You knew exactly what that money was for.”
“I couldn’t send it back.”
“You could have asked me.”
“You could barely get out of bed.”
“That did not make me dead.”
My father winced.
My mother looked away.
I took another step back because I suddenly understood why he had looked sick when I asked about the statements.
The account was not a private gesture.
It was a graveyard of decisions nobody had given me the right to make.
Daniel’s money.
Fundraiser money.
My parents’ guilt.
All of it mixed together and labeled protection.
“Bring every record tomorrow.”
My mother wiped her cheeks.
“Every deposit.”
“Yes.”
“Every withdrawal.”
“Yes.”
“Every transfer.”
“Yes.”
My father said, “Clara, there may be things you don’t like seeing.”
I looked at him.
“That ship sank three years ago.”
Megan bent down for her bag.
“I’m taking her home.”
My mother said, “I can drive.”
“No.”
I did not raise my voice.
That made the no feel cleaner.
She nodded as if she had expected it.
Daniel was watching through the glass.
I lifted the phone again.
He answered weakly.
“What now?”
I looked at him.
“Did you know about the fundraiser money?”
His face changed.
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
The answer came fast enough that I believed him.
He closed his eyes for a second.
“God.”
“Don’t.”
He opened them.
“I wasn’t going to say anything.”
“Good.”
I pressed my fingers into my forehead.
“I’m leaving.”
“Okay.”
“Get through tonight.”
A faint smile moved across his mouth.
“That’s the plan.”
I almost said I loved him.
The words rose and stopped.
He saw something on my face anyway.
“Clare.”
“What?”
“Drive safe.”
I put the receiver down.
Megan and I walked toward the elevators.
My father called after me.
“Tomorrow.”
I looked back.
He lifted one hand.
“I’ll bring the records too.”
My mother turned toward him.
“What records?”
He did not answer her.
That was answer enough.
The elevator arrived.
Megan and I stepped inside.
For three floors, neither of us spoke.
A man in blue scrubs got on at five and spent the ride staring at his phone.
On the ground floor, he hurried out before the doors had fully opened.
Megan walked beside me through the lobby.
The automatic doors let in a rush of cold air.
Outside, the drizzle had turned steady.
“I parked in the garage.”
“So did I.”
We crossed beneath the covered walkway.
Her shoes made soft wet sounds against the concrete.
Halfway to the garage, she said, “I knew about the debt.”
I looked at her.
“Daniel’s?”
“Yes.”
“The wedding stuff?”
She nodded.
“I didn’t know he told them how bad it was.”
“Did you know they bought the house outright?”
“Not until after.”
I waited.
She stared straight ahead.
“Daniel told me it was a wedding gift.”
“That part was true.”
“He made it sound like they covered the down payment and the rest was financing.”
“Why?”
“Pride.”
She gave a tired laugh.
“Or cowardice.”
We reached the elevator bank.
She pressed the button.
“I was angry when I found out.”
“At him?”
“At all of them.”
The doors opened.
We stepped inside.
She pressed four.
“I told him we should sell it.”
I turned toward her.
“He never told me that.”
“He didn’t want to.”
“Why not?”
“Because he said you would think we were trying to look noble after the fact.”
The elevator rose.
“Were you?”
“No.”
She looked at me.
“I was trying to get out of a house I couldn’t stand looking at.”
That answer I understood.
We stepped onto level four.
The garage smelled like wet concrete and exhaust.
My car sat two rows over.
Megan’s was farther down.
She stopped beside mine.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what exactly?”
She looked almost grateful for the question.
“For not calling you sooner.”
I waited.
“For posting those pictures.”
I said nothing.
“For believing his version because it was easier.”
May you like
Her mouth tightened.
“For deciding that because I didn’t know everything, I didn’t have to know anything.”
