Chương 6
A message appeared.
We need to speak privately before you fill Emma’s head with things she cannot understand.
Laura read it twice.
Then another arrived.
What happened today was unacceptable on both sides. I am willing to overlook your behavior if you are willing to discuss this rationally.
Laura took a screenshot.
Not because she knew she would need it.
Because for once she wanted proof that the sentence existed exactly as written.
Emma leaned against her.
“Can we order fries?”
“Yes.”
“And grilled cheese?”
“Yes.”
“And cheesecake?”
Laura looked at her.
“You had cake-related trauma forty-five minutes ago.”
“That was chocolate.”
“An important distinction.”
“Yes.”
Laura ordered all three.
They ate on the bed in clothes that did not match the expensive room.
Emma fell asleep before nine with one sock on and one sock missing.
Laura found the missing one under the desk.
She folded it and set it beside Emma’s shoes.
Then she sat by the window and called her ex-husband.
Michael answered on the fourth ring.
“Everything okay?”
“No.”
That got his attention.
“What happened?”
Laura told him.
Not all of it.
Just Emma.
The plate. Margaret’s words. The cake.
There was a long silence.
Then Michael said, “You put cake on your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Like… physically?”
“Michael.”
“I’m trying to picture the mechanics.”
“I pressed it into her dress.”
Another silence.
“I wish I’d seen that.”
“Not helpful.”
“No. Sorry.”
He became serious.
“How’s Em?”
“Asleep.”
“Did Margaret touch her?”
“No.”
“Threaten her?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not driving up there tonight.”
Laura blinked.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“I know. I’m telling myself.”
That was Michael. Sometimes infuriatingly practical. Sometimes useful for the same reason.
“What did Emma say?”
Laura told him.
This time all of it.
When she reached Margaret’s questions about whether Laura had accused her of taking something, Michael stopped her.
“Wait.”
“What?”
“She asked Emma that before the cake?”
“Yes.”
“That’s weird.”
“I know.”
“No. That’s really weird.”
“I know.”
“What does she think she took?”
Laura watched rain crawl down the window.
“I may have an answer.”
She told him about the trust.
Michael listened without interrupting.
When she finished, he said, “You need a lawyer.”
“My brother is a lawyer.”
“You need a lawyer who didn’t witness the document you may be challenging.”
Laura hated that he was right.
“I’m not challenging anything.”
“Okay.”
“I don’t care about the money.”
“Okay.”
“Stop saying okay like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re waiting for me to catch up.”
“I’m not.”
He paused.
“Laura, if somebody changed a legal document while your father might not have understood it, this isn’t about whether you want the money.”
She rubbed her eyes.
“What am I supposed to do? Start a war with my mother because an eight-year-old dropped a cake?”
“You just told me she didn’t drop it.”
Laura looked at Emma.
“No.”
“And this didn’t start today.”
“No.”
“Then don’t make today responsible for everything that came before it.”
She leaned back.
That was annoyingly close to wisdom for a man who once left a frozen pizza in the oven overnight.
“I’ll call someone Monday.”
“Tomorrow.”
“It’s Sunday tomorrow.”
“Lawyers own phones.”
“So do normal people. They just don’t necessarily answer them on Sundays.”
“Fine. Monday.”
Michael hesitated.
“Do you want me to come get Emma?”
Laura’s first impulse was no.
Her second was also no, but for a worse reason: sending Emma away would feel like admitting she could not manage whatever came next.
Then she looked at her sleeping daughter.
“What does Emma want?” Michael asked.
Laura hated him a little for asking the correct question.
“I’ll ask her tomorrow.”
“Good.”
They sat in silence across two phones and 170 miles.
Before hanging up, Michael said, “For what it’s worth, I don’t think you should’ve put cake on your mother.”
“I know.”
“But I understand why you did.”
“I know.”
“And if she sends you a dry-cleaning bill, frame it.”
Laura smiled despite herself.
“Good night, Michael.”
“Night.”
At 10:14, David sent three photographs.
The first showed a page from their father’s trust.
The second showed a signature page.
The third showed a handwritten note.
Laura enlarged the note.
It was in her father’s handwriting.
Or looked like it.
Margaret says Laura needs protection from herself. I disagree about the reason but agree structure may help. Need to discuss directly with L before final.
Laura read the last sentence again.
Need to discuss directly with L before final.
Her father had never discussed it with her.
The amendment had been signed four days later.
At 10:22, Margaret knocked on the hotel-room door.
Laura knew it was her before she looked through the peephole.
Margaret had changed clothes.
Of course she had.
She wore black trousers, a cream blouse, and the camel coat she had owned for years. Her silver hair remained perfectly arranged.
Laura opened the door only far enough to step into the hallway.
“Emma’s asleep.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“David told me where you were.”
Laura made a mental note to murder her brother later.
Margaret looked at the room behind her.
“May I come in?”
“No.”
A flicker of offense.
Then control.
“Fine.”
Laura stepped into the hallway and pulled the door nearly closed.
Margaret looked at her navy dress.
“You haven’t changed.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“I imagine.”
They stood beneath a wall sconce shaped like a brass leaf.
At the far end of the hallway, an ice machine hummed.
Margaret spoke first.
“I should not have said what I said to Emma.”
Laura had expected many things.
That was not one.
She waited.
Margaret’s mouth tightened.
“It was cruel.”
“Yes.”
“I was angry.”
“At me.”
“Yes.”
“So you hurt her.”
Margaret looked away.
The movement was small.
“I lost my temper.”
“You didn’t lose anything. You aimed it.”
“That’s unfair.”
“Is it?”
“I apologized.”
“No. You described your behavior.”
Margaret’s eyes returned to hers.
May you like
There was the familiar flash of irritation.
“I came here at ten o’clock at night.”
