Chapter 5 - DAD'S LAST LETTER
I opened the envelope in an empty conference room at the venue.
Not the bridal suite.
I couldn’t bear the white flowers anymore.
Aunt Evelyn sat beside me.
Catherine stood near the window.
Richard had disappeared outside.
Lauren was somewhere with Mom.
I didn’t ask where.
For that moment, there was only the letter.
My father’s handwriting leaned slightly to the right.
Blue ink.
A few words crossed out.
Exactly the way he used to write notes on the kitchen calendar.
Nora,
If you’re reading this, there’s a good chance I didn’t get enough time to say everything I meant to say.
I covered my mouth.
Evelyn reached for my hand.
I kept reading.
I have two daughters.
Not one daughter and one adopted girl.
Two daughters.
The room blurred.
When you came into our house at seven years old, you stood beside the refrigerator because you were afraid to sit down without permission.
Do you remember that?
I did.
I remembered every second.
Dad had made grilled cheese sandwiches.
I had eaten mine standing up.
He had pulled out a chair and said, “Around here, chairs are for sitting and daughters don’t need reservations.”
I had forgotten that until the letter put it back into my hands.
Dad continued.
You spent years trying to be easy to love.
You cleaned dishes nobody asked you to clean. Apologized when somebody else bumped into you. Offered half your dessert before anyone wanted it.
I hope by the time you are grown, you understand something I should have said every day.
You never owed us for taking you home.
Home was what we owed you.
I stopped reading.
My chest hurt.
Not metaphorically.
It actually hurt.
I bent forward, pressing the letter against my knees.
Aunt Evelyn put an arm around me.
“Why didn’t I get this before?”
Her face tightened.
“Your father gave me that box during his last hospitalization.”
“When?”
“Three weeks before he died.”
“Why keep it eleven years?”
“He told me not to give it to you while you were still listening to him.”
I frowned.
She smiled sadly.
“He said you already believed him then. He was afraid after he was gone, other people might make you forget.”
My eyes went toward the closed door.
Mom.
Evelyn followed my gaze.
“He knew your mother was different about the adoption.”
“You knew?”
“Not how bad it would become.”
“Why didn’t you say anything?”
“Because every time I tried, you defended her.”
That was true.
Painfully true.
I had defended Mom for years.
She was stressed.
She was grieving.
Lauren was struggling.
Family helped family.
There was always a reason.
Evelyn touched the letter.
“Finish.”
I read on.
Blood tells you where you began.
Love tells you where you belong.
If anyone ever makes you feel temporary in this family after I am gone, they are the one betraying the family, not you.
You are an Ellis because I stood in a courtroom and promised to be your father.
But more importantly, you became my daughter long before the judge finished speaking.
Please don’t spend your life paying people to keep a place at their table.
Build your own table.
Invite people who are happy you came.
Love,
Dad
P.S. You still owe me twenty dollars from that terrible lemonade stand when you were twelve.
I laughed.
Then cried harder.
The laugh surprised everyone.
It was so perfectly him.
Dad could make you cry and tease you before the tear reached your chin.
Inside the wooden box were photographs.
My adoption day.
Lauren and me wearing matching Halloween costumes.
Dad teaching me to ride my bike.
A Father’s Day card I had made from construction paper.
And a tiny brass key.
I looked at Evelyn.
“What’s this?”
“Safe-deposit box.”
My body tensed.
“I don’t want some giant secret inheritance.”
Evelyn almost smiled.
“There isn’t one.”
“Thank God.”
“There are family documents and some things your father wanted you to have.”
“What things?”
“His watch. Your adoption papers. Home movies.”
I swallowed.
“There’s something else.”
Of course there was.
Evelyn lowered her voice.
“Your father knew your mother had a habit of using money to control people.”
I stared at her.
“He kept records.”
“What kind of records?”
“Loans. Transfers. Money he gave Lauren. Money he gave your mother.”
I suddenly thought of the six thousand dollars for the imaginary roof.
“What does that have to do with me?”
“He wanted you to understand the difference between helping someone and financing their dependence.”
A knock came.
Before anyone answered, Lauren walked in.
No veil.
No bouquet.
Her mascara had smeared.
Her expensive gown looked absurd against the beige conference-room carpet.
She stared at the letter in my hands.
“What’s that?”
I didn’t answer.
Aunt Evelyn stood.
Lauren looked at her.
“Aunt Evelyn?”
“Hello, Lauren.”
“What are you doing here?”
“I was invited to a wedding.”
Lauren flinched.
Then she looked at me.
“Richard won’t answer me.”
“I can’t help you with that.”
“He thinks I stole from him.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Where did the thirty-three thousand dollars go?”
She looked down.
“That’s complicated.”
“It usually is when money disappears.”
Her eyes filled again.
“Some went to Mom.”
I wasn’t surprised.
“How much?”
“Ten.”
“For what?”
“She said she was behind on the mortgage.”
My stomach twisted.
“And you gave her Richard’s wedding money?”
“She said she’d repay it before the ceremony.”
“Did Richard know?”
“No.”
“What about the rest?”
“Wedding expenses.”
“Actual wedding expenses?”
She hesitated.
That was enough.
“Lauren.”
“I put some things on cards.”
“So?”
“I paid them down.”
“With Richard’s money?”
“I was going to replace it!”
I stood.
“You keep saying that. Replace it with what?”
She looked at me.
There it was.
The answer.
Me.
My fifteen thousand.
Maybe more.
She had assumed I would fill whatever hole she dug because I always had.
I felt strangely calm.
“You planned your wedding budget around money you hadn’t asked me for yet.”
“You always help.”
“And when I stopped?”
Her face crumpled.
“Everything fell apart.”
“No, Lauren. Everything was already falling apart. I just stopped holding it up.”
She sank into a chair.
For several seconds, she cried quietly.
Then she whispered, “Mom said sending the text would make you feel guilty.”
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The true blood text.”
Aunt Evelyn’s expression hardened.
Lauren wiped her cheeks.
“I was angry because Richard’s mom kept complimenting you. Your job. Your dress. The way you handled the venue.”
“That’s why you excluded me?”
“I felt like my own wedding was becoming another place where you looked more successful than me.”
The honesty was ugly.
But at least it was honesty.
“I told Mom I didn’t want you at the rehearsal dinner. She said if I made it about adoption, you would panic and try to prove you were family.”
My stomach turned.
Lauren looked ashamed.
“She said you’d probably pay the balance immediately.”
Nobody spoke.
Even Catherine looked stunned.
“So it was a test?” I asked.
Lauren shook her head.
“No. It was cruel. I know that now.”
“Convenient timing.”
“I know.”
“You sent it anyway.”
“Yes.”
“And then thirty seconds later reminded me to pay.”
Her voice broke.
“Yes.”
I sat back down.
There are apologies that heal something.
This was not one.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
Lauren reached toward me.
I moved my hand.
She stopped.
“I need you to tell Richard I didn’t mean for any of this to happen.”
“But it happened.”
“He’s going to leave me.”
“That isn’t mine to fix.”
“You could explain.”
“Explain what?”
“That Mom pressured me.”
I stared at her.
“You’re thirty years old.”
She looked away.
“Lauren, Mom may have taught you how to use me. But you chose to do it.”
She cried harder.
“I know.”
For once, I let her.
I didn’t comfort her.
I didn’t tell her everything would be okay.
I didn’t offer money.
After a minute, Lauren whispered, “There’s something you don’t know about the payment form.”
My entire body tightened.
“What?”
She looked toward the door before answering.
“Mom didn’t get your bank information from my wedding file.”
“Then where?”
Lauren’s face went pale.
“From her computer.”
I frowned.
“What do you mean?”
“She has a folder.”
“What folder?”
“One with your name on it.”
Aunt Evelyn straightened.
Lauren continued.
“I saw it when she opened the authorization. Scans of your old checks. Tax documents. Copies of your signature.”
My heartbeat changed.
“Why does she have my tax documents?”
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“I swear.”
Catherine stepped closer.
“How long has the folder existed?”
Lauren shook her head.
“I don’t know. But there were years in the filenames.”
A cold sensation crawled down my spine.
Years.
Not wedding paperwork.
Not one desperate forgery.
Years.
My phone rang.
Unknown number.
I answered.
“Ms. Ellis?”
“Yes.”
“This is Detective Mark Halpern with the financial crimes unit. The venue reported a disputed payment authorization.”
Lauren closed her eyes.
I looked at the letter from my father.
Then at my sister.
The detective continued.
“We need to speak with you about the forged signature.”
He paused.
“And Ms. Ellis, there’s something else.”
“What?”
“The account information used in the attempted payment appears connected to a second authorization submitted three years ago.”
My skin went cold.
“For what?”
“We’re still tracing it.”
May you like
He lowered his voice.
“But it wasn’t for a wedding.”
