Chapter 4 - MY MOTHER’S VOICEThe second box was hidden in a place my father had never thought to search.
She was my mother’s younger sister, a small woman with soft gray curls and the permanent habit of folding her hands whenever conversations became uncomfortable.
At family dinners, Dad spoke.
Susan listened.
At Christmas, Dad decided.
Susan agreed.
When Mom died, Susan came every weekend for six months, cooked meals, washed clothes, and helped Daniel and me with homework.
Then the visits gradually stopped.
Dad said she was busy.
I believed him.
Now, standing in the living room while frosting hardened on my dress, I realized I had believed far too many things.
“What didn’t Mom trust him about?” I asked.
Dad stepped between us.
“This party is over.”
“No,” I said.
He stared at me.
I had never spoken to him that way.
Apparently, neither of us knew what to do with it.
I repeated myself.
“No.”
Rachel crossed her arms.
“Can we please remember that today was supposed to be about Tyler?”
I turned toward her.
“You shoved me into his cake.”
She opened her mouth.
Daniel stepped between us.
“Rachel, stop.”
Her expression snapped toward him.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
That was new too.
Daniel had spent years making excuses for his wife.
Tonight, something had begun to crack.
Maybe seeing his father raise a crutch over his sister had finally crossed a line.
Maybe discovering he had unknowingly signed away his inheritance had done it.
I didn’t care which.
I wanted answers.
Aunt Susan looked at Claire.
“Is the trust investigation official?”
“Yes.”
“Then you’ll eventually find some of it anyway.”
Dad cursed under his breath.
Susan took a trembling breath.
“When Linda became sick, Richard was gambling.”
“I wasn’t gambling,” Dad snapped.
Susan looked at him.
“You lost thirty-eight thousand dollars in Atlantic City.”
Rachel’s mouth fell open.
Daniel whispered, “What?”
Dad waved dismissively.
“That was twenty years ago.”
“It was your children’s college savings.”
My stomach turned.
Dad’s face darkened.
“Linda gave you too much information.”
“She was scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of you.”
The room went silent.
Dad stared at Susan.
She didn’t look away.
My father had intimidated people his entire life.
Teachers.
Neighbors.
Waiters.
Contractors.
Anyone who challenged him eventually decided the fight wasn’t worth the exhaustion.
My mother had been different.
Or perhaps I had only remembered her that way.
I remembered soft hands.
Lavender perfume.
Songs in the kitchen.
I had forgotten the arguments behind closed doors.
Children remember what adults allow them to understand.
Susan continued.
“Linda came to my house after she found the bank statements. She said Richard had promised it would never happen again.”
“It didn’t.”
Susan laughed bitterly.
“Yes, it did.”
Dad moved toward her.
David stepped between them.
“You’ve done enough looming over women tonight.”
Dad stopped.
His cheeks burned.
Susan looked at me.
“Your mother changed the trust because she wanted the house protected.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
“You were fourteen.”
“I haven’t been fourteen for eighteen years.”
She lowered her eyes.
“Richard told us the trust had been dissolved.”
“You believed him?”
“At first.”
“And later?”
Susan hesitated.
“That’s what I need to tell you.”
Dad said, “Susan.”
She ignored him.
“A year after your mother died, I came here to collect some of her things. Richard had boxed them up.”
I remembered that.
Dad said keeping Mom’s belongings around was unhealthy.
One weekend I came home from visiting a friend and her clothes were gone.
Her books.
Her jewelry box.
Even the chipped ceramic mug she used every morning.
I cried for hours.
Dad told me I needed to stop living in the past.
Susan continued.
“Linda had left me instructions before she died.”
“What instructions?”
“To look under a loose floorboard in her sewing room.”
My pulse quickened.
Mom’s sewing room had later become Dad’s office.
“What was there?”
“A metal box.”
Dad suddenly said, “This is ridiculous.”
“What was in the box?” I asked.
Susan’s eyes filled with tears.
“Letters.”
The room disappeared around me.
“What letters?”
“For you and Daniel. A copy of the trust. Some financial documents.”
“Where are they?”
Susan looked at Dad.
“He took the box.”
I followed her gaze.
Dad shook his head.
“She gave me a box full of sentimental junk.”
“You threatened me,” Susan said.
“Don’t be dramatic.”
“You told me if I interfered with your family again, I would never see Emily or Daniel.”
I felt physically sick.
Susan wiped a tear.
“And you were grieving. You were angry all the time. You believed everything your father told you. I thought if I accused him, he would make sure I lost you completely.”
“You disappeared.”
“I know.”
“I thought you stopped loving us.”
Her face crumpled.
“Oh, Emily.”
Dad turned toward the kitchen.
I called after him.
“Where are Mom’s letters?”
He kept walking.
“Dad.”
Nothing.
David followed him.
Dad spun.
“Get out of my house.”
David stopped.
“I’m asking one question.”
“You have no right.”
“Where are Linda’s letters?”
Dad laughed.
“She’s been dead eighteen years, David. Maybe you should stop pretending you were some kind of hero to her.”
Something passed across David’s face.
I noticed.
So did Susan.
Dad noticed us noticing.
A terrible smile appeared.
“Oh, Emily doesn’t know?”
David’s voice sharpened.
“Richard.”
“Know what?”
Nobody answered.
I looked between them.
“What am I supposed to know?”
Dad leaned against the doorway.
“When your mother got sick, David Mercer visited her every week.”
“That’s not a secret.”
“It became one after I caught them together.”
My stomach dropped.
David’s expression hardened.
“Be careful.”
Dad laughed.
“Still protecting her reputation?”
Susan stepped forward.
“Richard, stop.”
“What happened?” I demanded.
Dad stared at me.
“Your mother wanted to leave me.”
I couldn’t breathe.
“She was planning to take you with her.”
Daniel looked stunned.
“And me?”
Dad glanced at him.
“You wanted to stay.”
“I was sixteen.”
“You told her you weren’t leaving.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I don’t remember that.”
“Of course not.”
Susan interrupted.
“Because it didn’t happen that way.”
Dad’s voice thundered.
“Enough!”
The upstairs door opened.
Tyler appeared on the stairs.
“Daddy?”
Every adult froze.
Daniel hurried toward him.
“Hey, buddy.”
“Why is everyone yelling?”
Daniel crouched.
“Grown-up stuff.”
Tyler looked at me.
Then he slowly lifted the tablet he had been holding during the party.
“Aunt Emily?”
“Yes?”
“I recorded Mom.”
Rachel went completely still.
Daniel turned toward him.
“What do you mean?”
Tyler hugged the tablet to his chest.
“I was filming my birthday.”
Nobody spoke.
His small eyes moved toward his mother.
“I recorded everything.”
Rachel took one step toward him.
“Give me that.”
Tyler backed away.
Daniel stood.
“Rachel.”
“It’s my son’s tablet.”
“It’s his video.”
“I said give it to me.”
She lunged toward the staircase.
Daniel blocked her.
“Stop.”
“Move.”
“No.”
They stared at each other.
Then Tyler came down.
He handed the tablet directly to me.
My hands trembled as I took it.
The screen showed a paused video.
I pressed play.
The camera bounced as Tyler walked through the party.
People laughing.
Balloons.
The cake.
Then Rachel’s voice.
Clear.
Furious.
“You think because you pay for everything you get to show up here and make everyone look poor?”
My own voice answered off camera.
“Rachel, I never said that.”
“You don’t have to.”
Then the camera swung.
For three perfect seconds, Rachel appeared in frame.
Her hands struck my back.
I fell.
The cake collapsed.
People screamed.
Dad rushed toward me.
The camera tilted.
And there it was.
My father taking my crutch.
Raising it.
Demanding an apology.
Every word.
Every movement.
Recorded.
Rachel looked as though she might faint.
Dad said nothing.
Daniel stared at the screen for a long time.
Then he looked at his wife.
“Why?”
Rachel began crying.
“I was angry.”
“That doesn’t answer me.”
“She has always treated us like charity.”
I laughed.
“Because I helped you?”
“You made sure everyone knew.”
“I never told anyone.”
“You didn’t have to! Dad always talked about Emily’s promotion, Emily’s salary, Emily buying this, Emily paying that.”
Daniel looked at Dad.
Dad avoided his eyes.
Something clicked inside me.
Dad had created this.
Not entirely.
Rachel had made her own choices.
But for years Dad had played us against each other.
My success against Daniel’s struggles.
My money against Rachel’s pride.
Their children against my career.
Every gathering was a competition I hadn’t realized I was participating in.
Claire pointed toward the tablet.
“Emily, preserve that video.”
“I will.”
Rachel looked at me.
“You wouldn’t.”
“Wouldn’t what?”
“Go to the police.”
I looked down at my swollen ankle.
Then at frosting on my clothes.
Then at the crutch Dad had raised.
“I haven’t decided.”
Dad scoffed.
“You’re going to destroy this family over a cake?”
“No.”
I looked at him.
“You did that long before tonight.”
For once, he had nothing to say.
I left with David and Claire.
Aunt Susan followed.
Daniel remained with Rachel and Tyler.
When we reached the driveway, Susan caught my arm.
“There’s one more thing.”
“What?”
“The metal box.”
“I thought Dad took it.”
“He did.”
“Then what?”
She looked back toward the house.
“Linda knew he might.”
My heart began pounding again.
“She made two copies.”
“Where’s the second one?”
May you like
Susan swallowed.
“I think I know.”
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