Chương 6
Dad looked at me.
I shrugged.
"I don't know enough about that."
"Neither do I," Mara said.
She put the papers back.
"But I know what he has been trying to do."
"What?"
"Get me to sign things."
She pulled out another folder.
"Refinancing papers."
"Did you sign?"
"No."
"Why?"
"Because the first time he brought them to me, the numbers didn't make sense."
Dad sat down again.
"What numbers?"
"The loan amount."
She opened the documents.
"He said we were refinancing to lower the payment."
Dad leaned over the table.
"But?"
"The new loan was larger."
I studied the pages.
There were figures I didn't understand, but even I could see the difference between what was owed and what Daniel wanted to borrow.
"Where was the extra money going?"
"I don't know."
"Did you ask him?"
"Of course."
"What did he say?"
"He said it was none of my business."
Dad stared at her.
"On a joint mortgage."
"Yes."
"And he expected you to sign."
"Yes."
The word came out almost flat.
Mara looked exhausted by the repetition.
I closed the folder.
"Don't sign anything."
"I haven't."
Dad stood.
"We need someone who knows what they're looking at."
Mara nodded.
"I already called a lawyer."
I looked at her.
"When?"
"Yesterday."
"Before the party?"
"Yes."
"Did you tell Daniel?"
"No."
That explained the phone call.
Maybe it explained more than that.
Mara reached for her coffee, realized it was empty, and stood to refill it.
She opened the refrigerator.
Then she stopped.
"There's something else."
She shut the door without taking anything.
"He knows about the baby."
Dad frowned.
"What does that mean?"
"He knows the baby's due date."
"Obviously."
"No."
Mara looked at him.
"He knows the exact date my doctor gave me after the last ultrasound."
I felt a chill.
"How?"
"He has access to my medical portal."
Dad went very still.
"Did you give him the password?"
"Years ago."
Mara's voice was quiet.
"I changed it last week."
"Did he get in?"
"I don't know."
She looked at her phone.
"The portal sent me an alert."
She opened the email.
There was a login notification from two nights earlier.
Different device.
Different location.
My father's face tightened.
"Did you report it?"
"Not yet."
"Why?"
"Because I don't know if it was him."
I thought about the unknown message from the night before.
You should stop helping her.
The pieces were beginning to touch each other without quite fitting.
I didn't like that feeling.
Mara sat again.
"I don't want this to become a war."
Dad looked at her.
"It already is."
She shook her head.
"I want my baby to be born without everyone screaming at each other."
Nobody answered.
That was the first thing she had said that made me understand the depth of what she was carrying.
Not just a pregnancy.
Not just a marriage.
A deadline.
A child arriving into a family already choosing sides.
She pressed both hands against her stomach.
"Daniel wasn't always like this."
Dad looked down.
Mara stared at the table.
"I need you to know that."
I didn't want to.
It would have been easier if she had described a monster.
A monster could be hated without conflict.
Instead she told us about the man who used to bring her coffee before work.
The man who slept on the floor beside their dog when the dog had surgery.
The man who cried when they learned they were having a baby.
The man who had once driven three hours because Mara's car broke down.
"That's why I kept making excuses," she said.
"He would do something awful, and then two days later he'd bring home flowers."
Dad nodded slowly.
"That's confusing."
"Yes."
She looked at me.
"People think you're stupid when you stay."
I didn't know how to answer that.
She continued before I could.
"Sometimes you stay because you remember the person who existed before the behavior."
The kitchen became quiet.
A clock above the stove ticked twice.
Then Mara's phone rang.
She looked at the screen.
Daniel.
She didn't answer.
It stopped.
A text arrived.
We need to talk.
Another came.
Alone.
Mara turned the phone face down.
Dad said, "Don't meet him alone."
She nodded.
"I wasn't planning to."
The phone buzzed again.
This time the message was shorter.
Your brother is making this worse.
I looked at Dad.
He looked at Mara.
"How does he know we're here?"
Mara's face changed.
She stood abruptly.
"Because he has a camera."
"What?"
"Outside."
She walked to the front window and pulled the curtain aside.
A small security camera was mounted beneath the porch roof.
Dad stared at it.
"When did you install that?"
"I didn't."
Mara's voice had gone thin.
She stepped away from the window.
Daniel had installed it three months earlier.
He told her it was for packages.
She had never questioned it because the house already had a doorbell camera.
I looked at the device.
"Does it record?"
"I think so."
"Who has access?"
"Daniel."
Dad reached for his phone.
"Don't touch it."
Mara shook her head.
"If you unplug it, he'll know."
Dad stopped.
For once, none of us moved impulsively.
The problem had become larger than an argument between siblings.
There was evidence.
There were accounts.
There was a house.
There was a baby.
And there was a man who seemed to know what happened inside rooms he wasn't standing in.
Mara picked up her notebook.
"I have an appointment this afternoon."
"With the lawyer?"
"Yes."
Dad looked at me.
Mara shook her head.
"Just me."
Dad hesitated.
Then he nodded.
"Okay."
She looked relieved.
I understood why.
Help could become another kind of control if the person receiving it had no say in how it was used.
I stood.
Mara touched my arm.
"Wait."
She opened the box again.
From beneath the folders, she removed a small envelope.
She handed it to me.
May you like
"This is for you."
I looked at her.
