Chương 10
“You asked.”
“I did not ask for enthusiasm.”
He smiled.
For a few seconds they were brother and sister again, not witnesses on opposite sides of an old document.
Then Laura asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His smile disappeared.
“I was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
“Not reading what I witnessed.”
“That’s all?”
“No.”
He folded his coffee sleeve flat with his thumb.
“Mom helped me during the divorce too.”
“With money?”
“With Claire.”
Laura waited.
“She practically raised her for a year.”
“I remember.”
“I was working constantly. Anne had moved out. Claire was angry at both of us. Mom did school pickup, dinner, everything.”
“And?”
“And when Dad said the amendment wasn’t what he expected, I had a choice.”
Laura watched him.
“I could pull at that thread,” David said, “or I could believe Mom when she said he was confused.”
“You chose Mom.”
“I chose the version of reality that let me keep functioning.”
It was not noble.
It was not malicious.
That made it hurt differently.
Laura looked toward the lake.
“I hated you for years.”
“I know.”
“You seemed so… approved.”
David laughed.
“Approved.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I do.”
He turned the empty cup between his hands.
“I hated you too.”
Laura looked at him.
“Why?”
“You left.”
The simplicity of it silenced her.
“You got out. Every Thanksgiving you’d show up for six hours, argue with Mom, and leave. Then I’d get three weeks of her talking about you.”
“I didn’t know.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
His voice was not cruel.
That made it worse.
“She compared me to you constantly,” he said. “But never in the way you think. You were reckless, but you were brave. You said no. You hung up. You left dinner.”
“She punished me for all of that.”
“Yeah. And then she called me afterward.”
Laura looked at her brother.
Two children had grown up under the same roof and somehow each had believed the other had received the easier mother.
“What now?” she asked.
David put the papers back into order.
“Now we tell the truth.”
It sounded too simple.
Laura knew better than to trust simple things.
Margaret called at four.
“Dinner.”
Laura nearly declined.
Then she said, “Where?”
“My house.”
The family lake house was twenty minutes north of the pavilion.
“No.”
A pause.
“Why?”
“Because you control the exits there.”
Margaret went silent.
Laura surprised herself with the sentence.
“Public place,” she said.
“This is a family matter.”
“Then behave like family in public.”
Margaret exhaled.
“Six o’clock. The dining room at the inn.”
“Fine.”
David came too.
Margaret disliked that.
Laura could tell by the way she looked at the third place setting.
They ordered food nobody really wanted.
Margaret chose salmon. David ordered steak. Laura ordered soup because the thought of cutting anything with a knife felt exhausting.
For five minutes they discussed Claire’s wedding.
It was surreal.
“The florist did beautiful work,” Margaret said.
David looked at Laura.
Laura looked at David.
“What?” Margaret asked.
“Nothing,” David said.
The waiter brought bread.
Margaret buttered a piece.
Finally Laura placed the copied letter beside her plate.
“I read this.”
Margaret did not look at it.
“I assumed you would.”
“What happened?”
“I already told you.”
“No. You told me Dad wanted restrictions.”
“He did.”
“Temporary restrictions.”
Margaret set down the knife.
“At first.”
“What changed?”
“He changed his mind.”
“Why did he write the lawyer afterward?”
“Because your father changed his mind frequently.”
“Convenient.”
Margaret looked at David.
“This is what you’ve done.”
David stared at her.
“No.”
“You handed her fragments without context.”
“I handed her Dad’s letters.”
“You handed her ammunition.”
Laura said, “Stop talking about me like I’m not here.”
Margaret turned.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“The truth.”
“You keep saying that as if there is one sentence that will satisfy you.”
“Start with the meeting.”
Margaret looked down at her plate.
For once, she did not immediately answer.
“Your father was worried you would reconcile with Michael.”
Laura blinked.
“What?”
“He believed you might go back.”
“I didn’t.”
“We didn’t know that.”
“So?”
“He was concerned Michael could eventually benefit from family assets.”
“Michael signed a prenup.”
“Which had already become irrelevant after your divorce.”
“And if I remarried him, we could sign another.”
Margaret gave her a look.
“You were not behaving rationally then.”
Laura’s face heated.
“Meaning?”
“You called me at two in the morning because you thought you had made the biggest mistake of your life.”
Laura remembered.
She wished she didn’t.
Emma had been conceived during a brief, disastrous attempt at reconciliation.
For three weeks Laura had believed the marriage might survive.
Then she discovered Michael had been talking to another woman during their separation. Nothing physical, he insisted. Laura had not cared about the technical definition.
She had called her mother.
Of course she had.
“Dad knew?”
“I told him.”
Laura stared.
“That was private.”
“You were his daughter.”
“That doesn’t make every conversation yours to distribute.”
“You were pregnant and talking about going back to a man you had just divorced.”
“I was scared.”
“So were we.”
The waiter arrived with the food.
Nobody spoke until he left.
Margaret touched her fork but did not eat.
“Your father wanted protection in the trust,” she said. “Initially five years. I told him five years was arbitrary.”
“And you suggested forever.”
“I suggested discretion.”
“Yours.”
“Yes.”
“At least say it.”
“I am saying it.”
Margaret’s composure cracked slightly.
“I believed you needed protection from impulsive decisions.”
“You believed you should be allowed to make them for me.”
“I believed someone should.”
Laura sat back as if struck.
David said quietly, “Mom.”
“No. She wants honesty.”
Margaret looked directly at Laura.
May you like
“You were thirty. You had no job. Your marriage had failed. You were pregnant. You had borrowed money. You changed apartments twice in a year. You called me at all hours asking what you should do, then became furious when I answered.”
Laura’s eyes burned.
