Chapter 5 - THE PHOTOGRAPH MY SISTER SHOULDN'T HAVE SHOWN ME
"My mother told you what?"
Robert lowered himself into the office chair.
"That you were helping pay for the wedding and that some of the money could cover the business's outstanding bills."
I looked at Marcus.
He looked just as stunned.
"Dad," he said, "you never told me any of this."
"Because you worry too much."
"People are waiting for their paychecks!"
Robert slammed his palm against the desk.
"I know that!"
His voice cracked.
For one uncomfortable moment, I saw the frightened man beneath the angry father.
"I have twenty-six employees," he said. "Some of them have worked here since you were children. I couldn't just close the doors."
"Then you should have told us the truth," Marcus answered.
Robert looked at me.
"Sarah, I would have paid you back."
"From what?"
He didn't answer.
"From the business that's already behind on its loans?"
"Things were improving."
"Because money was coming in through fraudulent wedding charges?"
He looked away.
I wanted to feel sorry for him.
Part of me did.
But sympathy didn't erase the fact that my credit had become his emergency financing plan.
"Did you know Vanessa photographed my cards?"
Robert rubbed his eyes.
"I knew she was paying for things."
"That's not what I asked."
"I didn't know exactly how she got the numbers."
I couldn't tell whether he was lying.
And I no longer intended to guess.
"Marcus, preserve the accounting records," I said. "Don't alter anything. Give the appropriate records to the investigator when they're requested."
Robert stood.
"You're going to destroy everything your grandmother built."
I looked around the aging office.
"No, Dad. Whoever decided to finance this business with stolen credit already put it at risk."
I left before he could answer.
An hour later, I confronted my mother at the house where Marcus, Vanessa, and I had grown up.
Diane was sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by wedding programs.
She was still folding them.
As if the wedding might somehow continue normally.
"Sarah," she said, forcing a smile. "Have some coffee."
"Did you tell Dad I agreed to help pay the business debts?"
Her hands stopped moving.
"Your father has been under terrible pressure."
"Did you tell him?"
She set down a program.
"Vanessa said you were helping with the wedding. I assumed—"
"No. You didn't assume. You gave vendors instructions not to contact me."
My mother began crying.
"I was afraid we'd lose the shop."
I sat across from her.
For the first time, I didn't reach out to comfort her.
"Mom, I have helped this family my entire life."
"I know."
"When Dad's truck broke down, I paid for the repairs. When Marcus needed surgery after his accident, I covered his deductible. When your roof leaked, I sent five thousand dollars."
"Nobody has forgotten that."
"Then why couldn't you ask me?"
She wiped her eyes.
"Because you might have said no."
The same words Vanessa had spoken the previous evening.
I realized then how deeply that idea had taken root in our family.
My right to refuse was treated as a problem they were entitled to solve.
Before I could answer, the front door opened.
Vanessa entered carrying her white wedding dress in a protective garment bag.
Brett followed her.
He looked exhausted.
"We need to talk," he said.
Vanessa dropped the dress across the sofa.
"Brett wants to postpone the ceremony."
My mother gasped.
"No!"
"I can't marry Vanessa tomorrow while we don't even know where the wedding money came from," Brett said.
Vanessa turned on me.
"Are you happy now?"
"No."
"You've ruined everything!"
I stood.
"I didn't steal your wedding money."
"You've always had everything!"
I almost smiled at the absurdity.
"Vanessa, you have a fiancé who loves you. Parents who have protected you your whole life. A family willing to overlook almost anything you do. What exactly did I take from you?"
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
Brett looked at her.
"Show Sarah the photograph."
Vanessa went pale.
"Brett, don't."
"You told me last night that your mother knew about the cards. You said you could prove it."
My mother straightened.
"Vanessa, what photograph?"
My sister stared at her.
For a moment, their expressions were almost identical.
Then Vanessa reached into her purse.
She pulled out her phone and began searching.
"I wasn't going to be the only one blamed," she whispered.
She turned the screen toward me.
The photograph had been taken six months earlier.
I recognized the dining room of my parents' house.
My brown leather wallet lay open on the table.
My credit cards had been spread beside a blue ceramic fruit bowl.
And my mother was clearly visible.
May you like
She wasn't merely standing nearby.
She was holding my cards flat against the table while Vanessa photographed them.
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