Chương 7
He gave her a tired look.
“Don’t make me regret it.”
She nearly smiled.
He almost did too.
Then he took his pillow and left.
The next day moved with the strange slowness of a day after bad news.
Daniel made coffee.
Claire toasted bread and forgot it.
At nine, Margaret texted Daniel: I am home. I will answer anything you ask. I will not call unless you want me to.
He showed Claire the message.
“What do you think?”
“I think she means it.”
“That wasn’t what I asked.”
Claire buttered the cold toast.
“I think if you go over there, you should decide what you want before you walk in.”
“What if I don’t know?”
“Then maybe don’t go yet.”
Daniel stared at his coffee.
After a while, he said, “Do you think Dad stole me?”
Claire leaned against the counter.
“I think Margaret believes he did something dishonest.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“No.”
“Do you think she’s telling the truth?”
“Some of it.”
Daniel looked up.
“Some?”
“She lied for thirty-eight years.”
“Exactly.”
“But she also kept things that could prove she lied.”
“Why would that make her more trustworthy?”
“It doesn’t. It makes her complicated.”
Daniel looked annoyed.
Claire understood. Complicated was a useless word when you wanted innocent or guilty.
He took a sip of coffee and grimaced.
“You made this?”
“You did.”
He looked at the cup.
“Oh.”
Claire smiled despite herself.
Daniel rubbed his face.
“I don’t know who to call.”
“About what?”
“All of it.”
“A lawyer?”
“I don’t want a lawsuit. I want to know what happened.”
“A lawyer can help with records.”
“Can they?”
“I assume.”
Daniel gave her a look.
“Fair.”
They spent two hours searching without finding much.
Rebecca Anne Hale was not hard to locate once they knew her married surname might be Mercer. There were too many Rebecca Mercers, but Margaret had said Arizona. Claire found a public professional profile for a Rebecca H. Mercer, sixty-seven, who had worked as an office administrator for a dental practice outside Tucson.
Daniel stared at the photograph.
Claire did too.
The resemblance was not dramatic.
That made it stranger.
Rebecca had Daniel’s narrow mouth. Maybe his eyes. Or maybe Claire was forcing similarities because she wanted evidence.
“Could be anyone,” Daniel said.
“Yes.”
“She looks…”
He stopped.
“What?”
“Normal.”
Claire understood.
He had spent twenty-four hours imagining a ghost. The woman in the photograph wore a green blouse and small gold earrings. Behind her was a fake ficus and a framed certificate.
Normal was almost offensive.
Daniel closed the laptop.
“I don’t want to find her like this.”
“Okay.”
“I want the box first.”
“Okay.”
“And I don’t want Mom there when I read it.”
“Okay.”
He looked at her.
“You keep saying okay.”
“I can argue if it helps.”
“It might.”
Claire considered.
“You should probably talk to Margaret before Monday.”
“Why?”
“Because if you open that box without hearing what she thinks is in it, every document becomes an accusation.”
“Maybe it should.”
“Maybe. But you said you want to know what happened.”
Daniel looked away.
At noon, he called Margaret.
They went to her house together.
The broken frame had been removed from the island. Margaret had wrapped it in newspaper and placed it inside a shallow cardboard box. She had vacuumed the floor so thoroughly that the grout looked cleaner around the island than anywhere else in the kitchen.
Daniel noticed.
“Did you do all this?”
“Yes.”
“You’re not supposed to bend that much.”
“I used the long attachment.”
He looked briefly irritated, then concerned, then irritated at being concerned.
Margaret said, “Would you like coffee?”
“No.”
“Claire?”
“No, thank you.”
Margaret nodded.
They sat at the kitchen table.
The same table where Claire and Daniel had eaten Thanksgiving dinner six months earlier. Same woven placemats. Same ceramic bowl filled with lemons Margaret never actually used.
Daniel put his hands flat on the table.
“You spoke to Rebecca last year.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“That you would ask me why I had waited.”
“I’m asking now.”
“I know.”
“What did she say?”
Margaret looked toward Claire.
Daniel said, “She stays.”
Margaret nodded.
“Rebecca asked whether you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That she was alive.”
“What did you say?”
“That you didn’t.”
“And?”
“She was quiet for a long time.”
Margaret picked at a loose thread on the placemat.
“She said, ‘Then Thomas won.’”
Daniel’s face tightened.
“Won what?”
“I asked. She said, ‘He got to decide what happened, and then he got to decide what it meant.’”
Daniel stared down at his hands.
Claire felt the sentence lodge somewhere under her ribs.
“What did Dad decide it meant?” Daniel asked.
“That she abandoned you.”
“Did she?”
“I don’t believe so.”
“You don’t believe so.”
“No.”
“What does she say happened?”
Margaret drew a breath.
“She says Thomas offered her money.”
Claire said, “For what?”
“To leave you with us permanently.”
Daniel stared.
“How much?”
“She didn’t tell me.”
“Did she take it?”
“She says no.”
“Do you believe her?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel pushed back from the table.
“No. Pick something.”
Margaret flinched.
“For once in your life, pick something you believe.”
“I believe Thomas lied to both of us.”
“Why?”
“Because I found proof that he did.”
“What proof?”
“The letter in the box.”
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Margaret stood.
She walked to a drawer beside the refrigerator and took out an old leather address book.
“What is that?”
“Thomas’s.”
She placed it on the table.
Daniel opened it.
Names filled the pages in Thomas’s compact handwriting. Attorneys. Clients. Golf partners. Plumbers. Numbers with no names.
Margaret turned to H.
Rebecca Hale was listed.
Three numbers had been crossed out.
Beside the last was a note.
Do not give to M.
Daniel stared.
“That could mean anything.”
“Yes.”
“But you kept it.”
“Yes.”
May you like
“Why?”
“Because after Thomas died, I stopped throwing away things that made me uncomfortable.”
