Part 5
Graham read that page twice.
The concert had been crowded. He remembered Eleanor beside him, checking the room whenever someone entered. At the time he had assumed she was looking for an empty chair.
A photograph fell from another envelope.
Nora stood outside a small brick building in a navy coat, holding a paper certificate. Her hair was shorter than Graham remembered, and there were new lines around her mouth. On the back she had written: Two years. Still here.
The final opened letter was addressed to Eleanor.
You told me Graham wants no contact. If that is true, ask him to say it himself.
Do not send another letter on his behalf.
I know what I did. I know what you think of me. But Theo is not an inheritance you get to guard.
Graham folded the page along its existing crease.
He did not sleep.
At six in the morning, he searched Nora’s name online.
There were several people with the same name. He found an old professional listing for the rehabilitation clinic and a photograph from a local fundraising walk. Nora stood in the second row wearing a bright yellow volunteer shirt, half turned away from the camera.
The clinic’s website listed a general number.
Graham waited until eight.
He called from the kitchen while Theo ate toast at the island. Eleanor did not come down for breakfast.
A receptionist answered.
Graham asked for Nora Mercer.
“May I ask who’s calling?”
“Graham Vale.”
The name sounded strange in his own mouth.
There was a pause.
“Hold, please.”
Theo looked up.
“Are you calling her?”
“I’m trying.”
“What if she doesn’t answer?”
“I don’t know.”
A line clicked.
Then a woman said, “This is Nora.”
Graham gripped the phone.
Her voice had changed. It was steadier, lower, but unmistakable.
“Nora.”
Silence followed.
He heard a door close on her end.
“What happened?” she asked.
The question carried no greeting and no surprise, only fear.
“Why do you think something happened?”
“Because you’re calling me.”
Theo stopped chewing.
Graham turned slightly away, though there was no privacy left to protect.
“A letter came yesterday.”
Another silence.
“The book,” Nora said.
“You sent it.”
“I ordered it from the store because I thought a parcel might reach him.”
“It did.”
“Did he open the letter?”
“Part of it.”
“What does that mean?”
“My mother found him.”
Nora exhaled.
It was not shock. It sounded like confirmation.
“She took it.”
“She tore it.”
“What?”
“She tried to take it from him. The letter ripped.”
On the other end, Nora said nothing for several seconds.
“Is Theo there?”
“Yes.”
“Can I talk to him?”
Graham looked at his son.
Theo stared at the phone with both hands wrapped around his glass of milk.
“Not yet,” Graham said.
Nora gave a single, quiet laugh that contained no humor.
“Of course.”
“I found the other letters.”
“All of them?”
“I don’t know.”
“She kept them.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t know.”
“No.”
Nora’s voice hardened.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t know what I expect.”
“You told her to handle my correspondence.”
“I did. At the beginning.”
“She told me every decision came from you.”
“It didn’t.”
“The legal letter?”
“I saw it for the first time last night.”
Nora breathed through her nose.
“Graham, I spent three years believing you had read everything.”
“I spent three years believing you stopped trying.”
“That was convenient.”
“Yes.”
The admission interrupted whatever she had intended to say next.
Theo slid down from the stool. He approached Graham slowly, carrying the rabbit by one arm.
“Is that Mommy?” he whispered.
Nora heard him.
Graham knew because the sound on the line changed. A breath caught, then disappeared.
“Yes,” he told Theo.
The boy’s face emptied of expression.
“Does she want to talk to me?”
“Yes.”
Theo considered the phone.
Then he shook his head.
“Tell her I don’t know yet.”
Graham repeated the words.
“I heard him,” Nora said.
Her voice had become thin.
“He has questions.”
“I have answers.”
“You have your answers.”
“That’s fair.”
Theo returned to the island and climbed onto the stool. He placed the rabbit beside his plate and began tearing his toast into precise squares.
Graham lowered his voice.
“We need to speak in person.”
“No.”
“Nora.”
“You don’t get to call after four years and arrange me.”
“I’m not trying to arrange you.”
“You always think that because you lower your voice, you’re not giving orders.”
He looked at Theo’s bent head.
“You’re right.”
Nora was quiet.
“I found thirty-two letters,” Graham said. “How many did you send?”
“Thirty-seven.”
“Do you have copies?”
“Most of them.”
“Can we meet?”
“I need to think.”
“Take whatever time you need.”
“That sounds generous.”
“It isn’t meant to.”
She sighed.
“I have patients until four. There’s a coffee shop near the train station in Brattleboro.”
“I can be there by six.”
“You don’t need to bring a lawyer.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“You usually plan one without noticing.”
The line disconnected.
Graham set the phone down.
Theo pushed a square of toast through a smear of butter.
“Is she coming here?”
“No.”
“Are you going there?”
“Yes.”
“Today?”
“Yes.”
Theo did not ask to come.
That worried Graham more than if he had begged.
At nine, Graham called Theo’s therapist. Dr. Maya Levin had worked with him intermittently since kindergarten, first for separation anxiety and later for sleep problems. She listened without interrupting while Graham explained the letter, the box, and the phone call.
“Does Theo know you’re meeting Nora?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“How did he respond?”
“He asked practical questions.”
“That sounds like Theo.”
“What am I supposed to say to him?”
“The truth in portions he can carry.”
“I don’t know what the truth is.”
“Then tell him that.”
Graham rubbed his forehead.
“My mother told him Nora didn’t want him.”
“Do you believe that?”
“No.”
“Can you support that belief with what you found?”
May you like
“Yes.”
“Then you can correct that part without explaining everything else.”
