Chương 5
Maybe I was.
That evening, Aunt Ruth came over with a container of chicken soup.
She still brought food like I was recovering from surgery.
Maybe in her mind, I was.
She placed the container on the counter.
“You look tired.”
“I am.”
“Did you sleep?”
“No.”
She nodded.
She did not lecture me.
That was one of the reasons I loved her.
Aunt Ruth never tried to fix feelings she could not fix.
She just stayed nearby.
“I talked to Eleanor.”
Her expression changed.
“What did she say?”
I told her about the call.
When I finished, Ruth walked to the window and stared outside.
“That family has always had a strange way of protecting itself.”
“What does that mean?”
She folded her arms.
“It means your parents taught you to keep peace.”
“Yes.”
“But they never taught Eleanor the same thing.”
I frowned.
“What are you saying?”
Ruth turned around.
“I’m saying your sister learned that if she was unhappy enough, everyone would adjust around her.”
I thought about birthdays.
Graduations.
Family vacations.
The little things I had ignored.
Eleanor crying because her gift was not expensive enough.
Eleanor getting angry when our parents praised my work.
Eleanor saying she felt invisible while standing in a room full of people trying to make her happy.
“I don’t want to believe she did this.”
Ruth nodded.
“That’s because you’re her sister.”
“What if she didn’t?”
“Then you’ll know.”
“And what if she did?”
Ruth looked at me for a long time.
“Then you’ll know that losing your children was not the only thing that changed your life.”
I looked away.
Outside, the sun was setting behind the houses.
For a second, I saw Maya running across the yard with a missing shoe.
I blinked.
The yard was empty.
That night, I received another message from the unknown number.
This time there was a photograph attached.
It showed a restaurant receipt.
My sister’s birthday dinner.
The date was six months earlier.
The time was printed clearly.
7:42 p.m.
Underneath it was another message.
Your parents left early.
They never made it to the birthday cake.
And they did not leave because of you.
I stared at the receipt.
Then I noticed the name at the bottom.
A name I recognized.
A name that made the entire story shift.
The reservation had not been made by Eleanor.
It had been made by my father.
And the table had been booked for four people.
Not three.
Not two.
Four.
I called the restaurant before I called my father.
That decision surprised me.
A part of me expected to call him first because that was what I had always done.
When something happened, I went to my parents.
When I needed advice, I asked my father.
When I needed comfort, I waited for my mother to notice.
But that version of me had disappeared somewhere between the hospital chapel and the empty chairs at the funeral.
The restaurant manager answered after two rings.
“Thank you for calling Bellweather, how can I help you?”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“I need to ask about a reservation from six months ago.”
There was a pause.
“Do you have the name?”
“Richard Vance.”
The typing stopped.
Then continued.
“I’m sorry, are you a family member?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“I can’t release private reservation information.”
“I’m not asking for personal information.”
I looked at the receipt on my kitchen table.
“I’m asking if my father canceled a reservation.”
The manager hesitated.
“I can’t confirm that.”
The answer was careful.
Professional.
But it was not no.
“Someone sent me a copy of the receipt.”
“I’m sorry.”
“There were four people scheduled.”
The silence returned.
Then the manager said, “Your party did not arrive as planned.”
My heart started beating faster.
“What does that mean?”
“I’m sorry, but I can’t discuss details.”
“Was there an emergency?”
Another pause.
“No.”
The word came quietly.
Almost accidentally.
I sat down.
“Then what happened?”
The manager lowered his voice.
“I remember that reservation because it was unusual.”
“Why?”
“Because one guest arrived alone.”
My fingers went cold.
“Who?”
“I shouldn’t say.”
“Please.”
There was a long silence.
Then he answered.
“Your sister.”
I closed my eyes.
The receipt shook slightly in my hand.
“Was my father there?”
“No.”
“My mother?”
“No.”
“Then why was the reservation for four people?”
“I don’t know.”
The manager sounded uncomfortable now.
“I just remember your sister sitting at the table for a while.”
“How long?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Then?”
“She left.”
I thanked him and ended the call.
I sat in my kitchen staring at nothing.
The birthday dinner was not the reason my parents missed the funeral.
It had never been.
The birthday dinner had not even happened.
My father had chosen a reservation over my family before the reservation even existed.
But why?
The question followed me through the house.
Why would he lie?
Why would my mother go along with it?
Why would Eleanor sit at an empty table?
I needed answers.
Not from a stranger.
Not from a message.
From them.
The next morning, I drove to my parents’ house.
I did not call first.
That was something I had never done before.
My parents believed unexpected visits were rude.
I believed I had spent enough years making myself convenient.
My father opened the door.
His face changed when he saw me.
Not surprise.
Fear.
That was the first thing I noticed.
Not guilt.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Sienna.”
“Can I come in?”
He stepped aside.
My mother was sitting in the living room.
She looked up and immediately knew something had happened.
“What’s wrong?”
I placed the receipt on the coffee table.
Neither of them touched it.
My father looked at it for a long time.
“Where did you get this?”
“That’s your first question?”
His jaw tightened.
“Sienna.”
“No.”
I sat across from them.
“I asked you to come to the funeral.”
May you like
My mother looked down.
“You said you couldn’t because of Eleanor’s birthday.”
