Chương 8
Tonight was becoming crowded with things she regretted and would not take back.
The hotel door opened behind her.
Emma stood there in one sock, hair tangled across her face.
“Mom?”
Laura turned immediately.
“Hey. Sorry. Did we wake you?”
Emma looked past her.
Margaret did not move.
For several seconds grandmother and granddaughter stared at each other.
Margaret’s shoulders changed.
The rigid line softened almost imperceptibly.
“Emma.”
Emma stepped closer to Laura.
Margaret swallowed.
“I owe you an apology.”
Emma looked up at her mother.
Laura said nothing.
This belonged to Emma.
Margaret crouched.
It looked unnatural on her, not because of age but because Margaret rarely lowered herself physically to anyone.
“What I said to you today was wrong.”
Emma stared.
“You do belong in this family.”
Emma’s fingers caught the back of Laura’s dress.
Margaret continued.
“And you did not deserve to be spoken to that way.”
A pause.
“I was angry at your mother, and I took that anger out on you.”
Laura’s breath caught.
That was an apology.
An actual one.
Emma considered it with the grave suspicion children reserved for adults who had already demonstrated that words could be dangerous.
“Did I ruin the cake?”
Margaret looked at her.
“No.”
“Did you?”
Margaret blinked.
Laura almost intervened.
She didn’t.
“I helped cause the accident,” Margaret said.
Emma frowned.
“You grabbed the thing.”
“Yes.”
“So you ruined it too.”
Margaret’s mouth opened.
Closed.
“Yes.”
Emma nodded.
“Okay.”
Margaret waited.
Emma did not hug her.
Did not forgive her.
Did not perform anything useful for the adults.
She simply said, “I’m tired.”
Laura put a hand on her shoulder.
“Go back to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”
Emma looked at Margaret once more.
“Your dress looked better before.”
Margaret stared.
Laura made a choking sound.
Emma disappeared into the room.
For three seconds neither woman spoke.
Then Margaret said, “Was that supposed to be funny?”
“I genuinely don’t know.”
Laura began laughing.
She tried not to.
That made it worse.
Margaret’s mouth twitched.
Only once.
Then she looked away.
When Laura stopped, the corridor felt different.
Not healed.
Nothing so convenient.
Just inhabited by two women rather than two positions in an argument.
Margaret stood.
“I’m not discussing the trust tonight.”
“Fine.”
“But I will tell you this. Your father was not helpless.”
“I didn’t say he was.”
“You’re imagining some confused old man with a pen in his hand.”
“I’m imagining my father asking why his lawyer was in the room.”
“He also argued with that lawyer for forty minutes about a tax provision.”
Laura paused.
“David didn’t mention that.”
“Because David remembers what supports his guilt.”
That sounded plausible enough to be dangerous.
“Why is he guilty?”
Margaret looked at her.
“Ask him.”
She walked toward the elevator.
“Mom.”
Margaret stopped.
“If Dad wanted the amendment, I’ll accept that.”
Her mother turned.
“But I need to know it was his decision.”
Margaret held her gaze.
“You think those are different questions.”
“Aren’t they?”
Margaret looked suddenly tired.
“You have no idea how decisions are made inside a marriage that lasts forty-two years.”
Then she left.
The next morning the rain stopped.
Emma chose to go home with Michael.
Laura tried not to take it personally.
“I have school Monday,” Emma explained while packing her blue dress into Laura’s suitcase in a shape that could only technically be called folded. “And Dad said we can get pancakes.”
“Betrayal by breakfast.”
“You can come.”
“I need to stay.”
“I know.”
Emma looked at her.
“Because of Grandpa’s money?”
“Because I need to understand some things.”
“Are you going to fight Grandma?”
“I hope not.”
“That means yes.”
“It means adults have complicated conversations.”
“You put cake on her.”
Laura sat on the edge of the bed.
“Yes.”
“That wasn’t a conversation.”
“No.”
Emma shoved the dress farther into the suitcase.
“Are you still mad?”
“Yes.”
“At me?”
Laura stared at her.
“No.”
Emma shrugged, but her shoulders dropped.
Laura pulled her closer.
“Not at you. Not for one second.”
Emma leaned against her.
“Grandma was mean.”
“Yes.”
“She said sorry.”
“Yes.”
“Do I have to forgive her?”
“No.”
Emma thought about that.
“Ever?”
“That’s up to you.”
“Will you?”
Laura looked out the window.
The mountains had emerged overnight, dark green and gray beyond the lake.
“I don’t know.”
Michael arrived at eleven.
He hugged Emma first.
Then he looked at Laura.
“You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
He picked up Emma’s suitcase.
At the door he paused.
“Call me if this gets ugly.”
“It’s already ugly.”
“Uglier.”
Laura nodded.
Emma hugged her hard.
Then they were gone.
The room became enormous.
Laura stood in the middle of it for several minutes.
She picked up a wet towel from the floor, hung it in the bathroom, threw away the remains of the grilled cheese, and found one of Emma’s hair ties under the pillow.
Ordinary things.
She put the hair tie around her wrist.
At noon, David arrived carrying two coffees and a cardboard folder.
“You told Mom where I was.”
“She already knew the inn.”
“You confirmed the room.”
“I’m weak.”
“Yes.”
He handed her coffee.
She accepted it anyway.
They sat at the small table by the window.
David opened the folder.
“I called Bancroft.”
“On Sunday?”
“The trust officer called me back.”
“Michael will be delighted to hear lawyers own phones.”
“What?”
“Nothing.”
David slid several copies toward her.
“The original trust was created in 2004. Equal remainder shares for you and me after both parents died, with separate education provisions for grandchildren.”
“Okay.”
“In 2014 Dad amended it.”
“That’s the one.”
“Yes.”
He pointed.
“Your remainder share became discretionary. Mine stayed direct.”
Laura looked at him.
“That never bothered you?”
“It did.”
“Apparently not enough.”
His face tightened.
“I offered to have mine structured the same way.”
“To whom?”
“Dad.”
“When?”
“After I found out.”
“After he died?”
“No. Before.”
Laura looked up.
May you like
David rubbed his hands together.
“Here’s the part I didn’t tell you.”
