Chương 9
Claire stopped breathing.
“What letter?”
“The one about capacity.”
The foundation lawyers had requested a letter from Claire’s grief therapist confirming that she understood the permanence of the transfer and was not acting under delusion or coercion. It contained no detailed diagnosis, but it was private.
“You sent Dad a photograph of it?”
“I thought it would reassure him.”
“He used it to tell a reporter I was emotionally impaired.”
“I didn’t know he would.”
“You keep saying that after you give him the thing he uses.”
“I was trying to keep this family together.”
“By reporting to him?”
“He is my husband.”
“And I’m your daughter.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
Diane’s crying became uneven.
Claire let the silence stay.
Finally, her mother said, “I can come to you.”
“No.”
“Please.”
“No more showing up.”
“I need to explain.”
“Then explain now.”
“I can’t. Not with him here.”
Claire looked at the clock. It was three forty. Her father usually visited job sites in the afternoon, but his company might no longer have enough work to keep him away.
“Where are you?”
“In the laundry room.”
The image was painfully clear: Diane sitting on the closed lid of the washing machine, cream sweater pulled over her hands, speaking quietly while Robert moved through the house.
Claire asked, “Are you safe?”
Her mother did not answer immediately.
“He has never hit me,” Diane said.
“That’s not what I asked.”
“He is angry. He throws things sometimes. Not at me.”
Claire stared at the framed photograph on Ethan’s desk. It showed him kneeling behind Lily and Noah at a pumpkin patch, his hands resting lightly on their shoulders.
“Do you want to leave?”
“I don’t know.”
“I can help you leave without giving Dad money.”
“That would destroy him.”
“He altered Ethan’s signature.”
“He says it wasn’t forgery because the larger amount reflected what he was owed.”
“That is forgery.”
“Don’t say it like that.”
“How should I say it?”
Diane lowered her voice further. “He believes the company will recover if he gets through March.”
“How much does he need?”
“Eight hundred thousand.”
Claire almost laughed.
The forged claim had been for three hundred thousand because that was only part of the rescue. Her father had planned to use emotional pressure for the rest.
“Mom, I will not give him eight hundred thousand dollars.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You called me cruel when I said no.”
“I was scared.”
“So was I at the hospital.”
Her mother inhaled sharply.
Claire regretted the comparison even as she made it. She had begun using that night as a weapon because it was the only one heavy enough to stop them.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
Diane was quiet.
Claire tried again. “I’m sorry for saying it that way. I’m not sorry for refusing.”
“I understand.”
It was the first time her mother had said those words without adding but.
Claire gave her the number of a hotel near Fredericksburg and told her Mara could arrange payment directly if she needed a room. She offered to send a car. Diane said she was not ready.
After the call, Claire opened the bottom drawer of Ethan’s desk.
Inside were old cables, tax receipts, three dead batteries, and a yellow legal pad covered in his handwriting. Halfway through the pad, she found a list titled THINGS WE NEED TO STOP POSTPONING.
Replace water heater.
Update guardians.
Talk to Claire about Rob.
Take Lily camping before mosquitoes.
Noah dentist Tuesday.
The list made Claire sit down.
Talk to Claire about Rob had been crossed out, then circled, then crossed out again.
She touched the words.
Ethan had intended to tell her. He had failed. That failure did not erase his love, but love did not erase the failure either.
For the first time since his death, Claire felt angry with him.
It came as relief.
Anger placed Ethan back among the living, where people made decisions that could be questioned. Grief had turned him perfect because perfection was easier to preserve than a marriage.
She carried the legal pad downstairs and placed it beside the foundation document.
At six, Melissa called.
“I’m outside,” she said.
Claire checked the door camera. Melissa stood alone on the porch with both hands visible and no bag.
“I said no more showing up.”
“I know.”
“Then leave.”
“I can’t go home.”
“Why?”
“Dad knows I talked to you.”
“You sent two messages.”
“He checked my phone.”
Claire looked at Mara, who had remained through dinner and was now answering email at the kitchen table.
“Does he have access to your phone?” Claire asked.
“He pays for the account.”
“That doesn’t mean he can read it.”
“He knows my passcode.”
“Change it.”
“I did. He took the phone.”
“You’re calling me from it.”
“I took it back.”
Melissa’s voice shook with anger rather than fear. Claire remembered that anger. As children, Melissa had cried when sad and become very still when frightened, but anger made her words trip over one another.
“Did he threaten you?” Claire asked.
“He said if I help you, I can figure out the townhouse myself.”
“Can you?”
“No.”
Claire almost said that was not her problem.
Instead, she asked, “Did Mom come with you?”
“No. She locked herself in the bedroom.”
Claire opened the door but kept the chain in place.
Melissa looked smaller than she had two nights earlier. Her low ponytail had loosened, and the skin beneath her eyes was gray.
“No reporters?” Claire asked.
“No.”
“No recordings?”
Melissa held up her phone. “You can take it.”
Claire shut the door, removed the chain, and opened it again.
Melissa stepped inside.
Her gaze moved immediately to the photographs on the cabinet. She stopped at Lily’s picture.
“I found the bracelet under Mom’s passenger seat,” she said. “It must have fallen off that night.”
Claire closed the door. “You broke into my house.”
“I used the code.”
“That is breaking in.”
“I know.”
May you like
“Why didn’t you call?”
“I thought you would say no.”
