Chapter 5 - THE GIFTS I HAD PAID FOR WITHOUT KNOWING
Carter looked as though someone had struck him.
“No,” he said.
I placed the receipt between us.
“Look at the last four digits.”
He did.
“I thought that card was only for emergencies.”
“So did I.”
He shook his head.
“Yvette told me you'd offered to help with Christmas expenses.”
“I did not.”
He stared at the receipt.
Then his eyes filled.
“Mom, I swear I didn't know.”
I believed he was shocked.
But belief didn't make the receipt disappear.
“Let's find out exactly what happened,” I said.
I opened my credit account on my laptop.
My hands were steady until the statement appeared.
Then I saw the charges.
There was the electronics purchase.
Several restaurant bills.
A luxury spa.
A clothing store.
And, scattered among them, purchases from pharmacies, children's clothing stores, and a school supply company.
The legitimate expenses made the others harder to notice.
I scrolled back further.
The pattern had begun eight months earlier.
Not four years.
Not since Franklin died.
Eight months.
I had given Carter the supplementary card after Sophie broke her arm two years earlier and Yvette had struggled to cover an unexpected expense while Carter was away for work.
I'd told him to keep it for genuine emergencies.
I had not intended to finance another family's lifestyle.
Carter leaned closer.
“I've never seen some of these purchases.”
“Who keeps the card?”
“Yvette does. It's in the kitchen drawer with our other emergency things.”
He looked miserable.
“I should have checked.”
“Yes,” I said quietly. “You should have.”
He didn't argue.
I called the card issuer.
After verifying my identity, I explained that I wanted the supplementary card frozen immediately.
The representative helped me secure the account and open a review of the charges.
She explained that determining responsibility would require investigating which purchases had been authorized.
I understood.
I wasn't interested in making accusations before the facts were clear.
But I needed the spending to stop.
When the call ended, Carter was staring at Franklin's photograph.
“Dad would be ashamed of me.”
I felt an unexpected flash of anger.
“Don't put words into your father's mouth.”
He turned.
“He trusted me to look after you.”
“He trusted you to become a decent man. That's different from expecting you to be perfect.”
“I haven't been decent.”
“You've been careless,” I said. “And you've allowed other people to speak for me. Those are things you can change.”
He lowered his head.
I wanted to embrace him.
But I didn't.
Not yet.
Some lessons need room to settle.
We spent the next hour separating the charges into categories.
Expenses I recognized.
Expenses Carter could explain.
Expenses neither of us understood.
By the time we finished, the questionable purchases totaled several thousand dollars.
I looked at the list.
A terrible thought occurred to me.
“Carter, did Yvette ever tell you I was having financial trouble?”
He looked surprised.
“Sometimes.”
“What did she say?”
“That you were spending too freely after Dad died.”
I sat back.
“Did she give you examples?”
“She said you'd become impulsive. That you were using money to replace Dad.”
The words cut deeply.
I had worried about that myself.
After Franklin died, I'd booked a family weekend in Quebec City because I couldn't bear spending another winter holiday staring at his empty chair.
The children had laughed on the ice rink.
Carter had helped Noah learn to skate.
For the first time in months, I'd felt something close to happiness.
Was that really what Yvette thought of me?
A lonely widow trying to purchase affection?
Carter watched my face.
“Mom, I'm sorry.”
“Did you believe her?”
He hesitated.
“Yes.”
I looked away.
That was the answer that hurt.
Not because Yvette had criticized me.
But because my son had accepted the criticism without asking me.
Before Carter left, he promised to take responsibility for the supplementary-card charges that proved improper.
He also promised to speak with Yvette.
This time, I didn't tell him how.
He needed to learn to have difficult conversations without me arranging them.
The next morning, I drove into town.
I stopped at the small jewelry shop where Franklin had purchased my wedding anniversary bracelet fifteen years earlier.
The bracelet was simple gold with a tiny engraved charm.
He had chosen it because I disliked anything flashy.
Inside the shop, the owner, Mrs. Landry, recognized me.
“Rosalind! How lovely to see you.”
I smiled.
“I need a clasp repaired.”
She examined the bracelet.
“Franklin gave you this, didn't he?”
“Yes.”
Her expression softened.
“He was very particular about the engraving.”
I laughed faintly.
“He was particular about everything.”
She turned the charm over.
Then frowned.
“Did you ever notice this?”
“Notice what?”
She pointed to a tiny second engraving on the back.
There were three letters.
R.F.B.
My initials after marriage.
Bennett was Franklin's surname, of course.
But beside them was a date.
December twenty-fourth.
The year we'd first spent Christmas together.
I touched it.
I'd never noticed.
Mrs. Landry smiled.
“He said Christmas Eve was the day he knew he wanted to marry you.”
Tears filled my eyes.
I remembered that Christmas.
We'd been young and almost broke.
Our entire dinner had cost less than twenty dollars.
And Franklin had given me a little paper ornament shaped like a house.
On it he'd written:
Wherever you are, that's home.
I had kept the ornament for forty years.
Suddenly, I wanted to go home and find it.
Not because it was valuable.
Because it reminded me what Christmas had once meant.
When I returned, Cordelia was waiting in my driveway.
She'd offered to help decorate.
We brought boxes of ornaments upstairs.
Near the bottom of the last box, wrapped in tissue paper, was Franklin's little cardboard house.
The ink had faded.
The edges were bent.
I held it carefully.
Cordelia smiled.
“Dad's famous ornament.”
“He made it when we were dating.”
“I know. You tell me every year.”
I laughed through tears.
Then she said, “Mom, there's something about the children you should know.”
My smile faded.
“What?”
“Noah called me last night.”
Noah was ten.
Old enough to understand more than adults imagined.
Young enough to believe grown-ups could fix anything.
“What did he say?”
Cordelia hesitated.
“He wanted to know whether you were angry with him.”
My heart dropped.
“Why would he think that?”
“He said Yvette told him Christmas plans changed because people hadn't been appreciative.”
I gripped the ornament.
“Did you reassure him?”
“Of course.”
Cordelia lowered her voice.
“But that's not the part that worries me.”
I looked at her.
“Noah said something else.”
“What?”
“He said Grandma Marlene told Sophie that if they went skiing with you, their parents might not have enough money for Christmas at home.”
I stared at my daughter.
Sophie was seven.
She still believed that Christmas magic could make ordinary wishes come true.
The thought of someone burdening her with adult financial disputes made my stomach turn.
Cordelia reached into her bag.
“Noah asked me to give you this.”
She handed me a folded drawing.
On it, Noah had drawn a mountain chalet.
Four people stood beneath falling snow.
Me.
Cordelia.
Noah.
Sophie.
But beside the chalet, he had drawn two more figures.
One was Carter.
The other was Yvette.
They stood far away, behind a thick black line.
May you like
At the bottom, in careful handwriting, he'd written:
Grandma, can you please make Christmas so nobody has to choose?
