Chương 3
“Dad says some of the transfers don’t match the originals.”
“Originals where?”
“Paper statements.”
“I thought everything was digital.”
“So did I.”
Rachel sat down.
“Where were they?”
“In the old storage room at the workshop. Behind some tax boxes. Dad’s been cleaning it out.”
“And Harold?”
“He apparently kept copies.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel pressed her fingertips against her forehead.
“Did Lauren know Dad found them?”
“I think she knew he found something.”
“So today—”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.”
“Rachel.”
“She saw Sophie holding that train and lost her mind.”
“I saw it.”
“Why?”
Daniel exhaled.
“Dad says Harold’s name is scratched underneath. He thinks Lauren knew the train was Harold’s.”
“Why would that matter?”
“I don’t know.”
Rachel stood.
The kitchen chair scraped backward.
“Stop saying that.”
“I really don’t.”
“You sat at that table for three years while Lauren called my husband a thief.”
“Our whole family did.”
“Yes.”
“I’m not defending it.”
“You never defended me either.”
There was a pause.
Daniel said, “No.”
That answer hurt more than an excuse would have.
Rachel leaned against the refrigerator.
From the living room came applause from the television.
Sophie shouted, “That cake is leaning!”
Rachel covered the bottom of the phone.
“Then they should have chilled the layers.”
“They did!”
“Not enough.”
She put the phone back to her ear.
Daniel had heard.
“Still bossy?” he asked.
“She comes by it genetically.”
For one second they were brother and sister again.
Then Daniel said, “Dad wants you to come tomorrow morning.”
“Why?”
“He says he owes you an explanation.”
“He’s had three years.”
“I know.”
“No. You know the sentence. I don’t think you know what three years feels like.”
Daniel did not answer.
Rachel stared at the magnets on her refrigerator. School lunch calendar. Sophie’s spelling test. A faded photo from a lake trip when Sophie was four.
Evan was in that picture.
He was holding Sophie upside down by the ankles while she laughed.
Rachel had almost removed it dozens of times.
She never had.
“What time?” she asked.
“Nine.”
“I’ll come.”
She ended the call before Daniel could thank her.
That night Sophie slept in Rachel’s bed.
She had not asked to.
She simply appeared at eleven twenty with a pillow under one arm and stood beside the mattress.
Rachel lifted the blanket.
Sophie climbed in.
For a long time, the room stayed quiet.
Then Sophie said, “Did it hurt when you hit Aunt Lauren?”
Rachel stared at the ceiling.
“My hand did.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Rachel turned her head.
Sophie’s eyes were open.
“I shouldn’t have hit her.”
“She was grabbing me.”
“She was reaching for you.”
“That’s the same.”
“Not quite.”
Sophie considered that.
“Would you do it again?”
Rachel thought about giving the responsible answer.
She thought about all the parenting books that turned complicated things into teachable moments.
“Yes,” she said.
Sophie rolled onto her side.
“Okay.”
Rachel waited for more.
Nothing came.
Within minutes, Sophie’s breathing slowed.
Rachel remained awake.
At two seventeen, she got up for water and found herself standing in front of the lake photograph.
Evan had always hated being photographed.
He blinked in half of their wedding pictures. In another, taken at Daniel’s college graduation, he was caught scratching his ear while everyone else smiled.
The lake photo had been different.
He was not looking at the camera.
He was looking at Sophie.
Rachel took the magnet off.
She held the photograph.
Then she put it back.
Walter’s workshop smelled exactly the same.
Wood dust, old varnish, machine oil, stale coffee.
Rachel arrived at nine the next morning after leaving Sophie with her friend Marisol and Marisol’s daughter.
The front offices were closed for the holiday weekend, but Walter was waiting.
He wore yesterday’s waistcoat.
That bothered Rachel for reasons she could not explain.
Walter always changed clothes.
“Coffee?” he asked.
“No.”
He nodded.
They stood facing each other in the reception area.
Behind him, framed photographs showed restored Victorian houses, courthouse benches, church pews, and hotel lobbies.
Rachel had grown up inside those photographs.
Saturday mornings doing homework in the office.
Summer afternoons answering phones badly.
Her first paycheck.
The time Daniel fired a staple through his thumbnail and fainted before anyone else realized what happened.
Lauren had loved the business in a way Rachel never did.
That had always seemed like one of the things Lauren deserved to have.
Walter opened the workshop door.
“Back here.”
Rachel followed.
The antique train sat on the central workbench.
She stopped.
“You brought it?”
“I didn’t want it in the house.”
“Why?”
Walter looked at the train.
“Because I finally understand why Harold never came back for it.”
Rachel folded her arms.
“Start talking.”
Walter pulled out a stool.
She remained standing.
He sat anyway.
“Harold came to me four years ago. About five weeks before he died. He said there were problems with the assistance fund.”
“You told us Evan stole the money.”
“I believed he did.”
“Because Lauren told you.”
“Because the records showed his credentials.”
“Records Lauren gave you.”
Walter rubbed the side of his thumb.
Rachel noticed a small crack in the nail.
“I should have checked.”
“Yes.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes.”
He looked up.
“I was tired, Rachel.”
She laughed once.
Walter flinched.
It was not a kind laugh.
“You were tired.”
“I’m not offering that as an excuse.”
“It sounds exactly like one.”
“Then forget I said it.”
Rachel walked toward the workbench.
The train’s red paint was brighter under the fluorescent lights.
“Harold thought the problem started before Evan.”
Walter nodded.
“He said vendor payments had been recoded as employee emergencies.”
“By who?”
“He didn’t know.”
“Or he didn’t tell you?”
Walter looked away.
There.
Rachel felt something tighten inside her.
“What aren’t you saying?”
“He suspected Lauren.”
The workshop seemed to become very quiet.
“He told you that?”
“Yes.”
“And you did what?”
“I told him he was mistaken.”
May you like
Rachel closed her eyes.
When she opened them, Walter was watching her.
