Chương 10
“That doesn’t turn no into permission.”
Melissa nodded.
Mara entered the hallway. “I’m going to advise both of you that this conversation could become relevant to a legal dispute.”
Melissa looked at Claire. “Is she always here now?”
“No.”
“It feels like yes.”
Mara picked up her laptop. “I can leave.”
Claire did not want her to.
That realization embarrassed her. She had spent most of the year resisting company, then begun depending on Mara’s presence because Mara converted chaos into folders.
“Stay in the kitchen,” Claire said. “Please.”
Mara nodded and walked away.
Melissa removed her coat but continued holding it over one arm.
“You can put it down,” Claire said.
“I’m not staying.”
“You came here because you couldn’t go home.”
“I’ll get a hotel.”
“With what card?”
Melissa’s mouth tightened.
Claire led her into the living room.
For a while, neither sat. Melissa examined the room as though expecting to find evidence of wealth. The sofa was the same one Claire and Ethan had bought ten years earlier. Noah’s plastic truck remained beneath the side table. One wheel was missing.
Finally Melissa sat at the far end of the couch.
“Did Dad change the document?” Claire asked.
Melissa looked at her hands. “Yes.”
The speed of the answer startled Claire.
“You saw him?”
“I saw the file on his computer.”
“When?”
“November.”
“And you said nothing.”
“I didn’t know he planned to use it.”
“What did you think he planned to do with a fake loan document?”
“He said it was a negotiation draft.”
“That means nothing.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
Melissa looked up. “I knew it was wrong. I didn’t know it was this.”
Claire heard her father in the sentence. Not the words, but the scale of responsibility adjusted to fit the speaker.
“What is this?” Claire asked.
“The reporter. Court. Him going to your house. I thought he wanted to scare you into meeting.”
“And you came with him.”
“Mom asked me to.”
“You’re twenty-nine.”
“I know how old I am.”
“Then stop offering Mom as an explanation.”
Melissa folded the coat across her lap.
Claire waited.
“I came because Dad said you were transferring everything that morning,” Melissa said. “He said once it was gone, Mom would lose the house and people at the company would lose their jobs.”
“Did he tell you he wanted eight hundred thousand?”
Melissa’s eyes flickered.
“How much did he promise you?” Claire asked.
“Nothing.”
“The townhouse.”
“That isn’t a promise. It’s where I live.”
“Paid for through his company.”
“I didn’t know that when he bought it.”
“When did you learn?”
“During the divorce.”
“And you let him keep paying?”
“I had a four-year-old and no job.”
Melissa’s daughter, Avery, was six now. Claire had not seen her in almost a year. Avery had once called Noah “my little uncle” despite being older than him.
“Where is Avery?” Claire asked.
“With Tom.”
“For how long?”
“Until Sunday.”
Claire sat in Ethan’s old armchair.
“Why didn’t you come to the funeral?”
Melissa’s face closed.
“We’re talking about the document.”
“We’re talking about why I won’t give Dad money.”
“No. We’re talking about why you won’t give any of us money.”
“Did you expect some?”
Melissa’s answer took too long.
“Mom said Ethan would have wanted Avery protected.”
“Ethan set aside money for Avery’s education in his old will.”
Melissa stared at her. “What?”
“He removed it after you sent the message.”
The statement was not entirely fair. Ethan’s old will had included a modest education gift for Avery. After Ethan died, Claire had no ability to change his will, but the company sale proceeds and settlement belonged largely to her. She had initially planned a separate account for Avery, then abandoned it after the funeral.
Melissa’s face went pale. “You were going to give her money?”
“I considered it.”
“And you changed your mind because of something I said?”
“Yes.”
“That’s punishing a child.”
Claire flinched.
Melissa saw it and continued. “Avery didn’t send that message.”
“No.”
“She loved Lily and Noah.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
“Because giving you access to a large account would have tied us together for years.”
“It could have been controlled by someone else.”
“It could have.”
“You didn’t even try.”
“No.”
The admission entered the room and stayed there.
Claire looked at Noah’s broken truck.
“I was angry,” she said. “I wanted there to be a consequence.”
Melissa’s eyes filled, but her voice remained hard. “There was. You disappeared.”
“My husband and children died.”
“And I said something unforgivable.”
“Yes.”
“Both can be true.”
Claire looked at her sister.
The sentence did not repair anything. It did, however, make Melissa sound briefly unlike their father.
“What happened before you sent it?” Claire asked.
Melissa’s fingers pressed into the camel-colored fabric.
“Dad kept saying you had arranged the funeral on purpose.”
“On purpose for what?”
“To make everyone associate my birthday with the accident.”
“The accident happened on your birthday.”
“I know.”
“The funeral was nine days later.”
“I know.”
“Then what did he mean?”
“He said you could have waited until Monday.”
Claire remembered the funeral director offering Saturday because it was the only day the larger chapel was available. Monday would have required delaying burial through another weekend.
“Did you believe him?” she asked.
“I wanted to.”
“Why?”
Melissa looked toward the hallway. “Because everyone at the party stopped looking at me the second your calls began.”
Claire said nothing.
“We hadn’t cut the cake yet,” Melissa continued. “Dad saw your name and put the phone facedown. Mom asked if he should answer. He said you were probably upset we hadn’t invited you.”
“You didn’t invite me.”
“You were sick.”
“I could have decided.”
“I know.”
May you like
The repeated phrase had begun to sound like a door closing.
Melissa swallowed. “When you called again, I told him to answer. He said no. Then you kept calling, and people got quiet. It was like the whole room knew something before we did.”
