Chapter 4 - WHAT MY MOTHER TOOK FROM HER HAND
Daniel saw the image first.
“What the hell?”
My mother stepped forward.
“Give me that.”
Lena pulled the phone back.
“No.”
Vanessa stared at the screen.
For once, she looked as confused as I felt.
The image had been taken seven minutes before Vanessa entered the room and ruined my dress.
Mom was unmistakable.
So was the small silver tube between her fingers.
The missing tube.
I looked at her.
“Why were you holding the glue?”
Her mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Vanessa whispered, “Mom?”
Celia sat down slowly.
“Diane.”
My mother closed her eyes.
Then she reached for the back of a chair as though she needed it to remain upright.
“I found it in Vanessa’s purse.”
Vanessa blinked.
“What?”
“You left your bag open in the powder room.”
“You went through my purse?”
“I saw the package.”
My voice sounded strangely calm.
“You knew she brought glue.”
“I knew she brought something stupid.”
“Something stupid?”
“I didn’t know what she planned to do with it.”
“You removed one tube.”
“Yes.”
“Why not both?”
“I tried.”
Vanessa shook her head.
“That’s not what happened.”
Mom turned on her.
“You came back.”
“You told me to calm down.”
“Because you were furious.”
“You told me she had already taken enough from me.”
The room became very quiet.
I felt Daniel’s hand leave my back.
Not because he was moving away from me.
Because he had clenched both fists.
“What did you mean?” I asked.
Mom looked at me.
“Not this.”
“Then what?”
She pressed her lips together.
Vanessa laughed bitterly.
“Go ahead. Tell her.”
“Vanessa.”
“Tell your perfect daughter what you’ve been saying about her for the last year.”
My chest tightened.
Mom shook her head.
“You were upset. I was trying to make sense of things.”
“No. You told me she knew where Grandma’s money went.”
“I said she might.”
“You told me she had Grandma’s bracelet.”
“I said Rose trusted her with things.”
“You told me Grandma changed everything because of her.”
Celia stood.
“That is enough.”
Vanessa pointed at me.
“This is why I came upstairs.”
I could barely speak.
“To ask me about money?”
“To ask you to finally admit you knew.”
“With industrial glue?”
Her face twisted.
“I wasn’t going to use it.”
“You poured it down my dress.”
“I know what I did!”
Several guests turned.
Vanessa lowered her voice.
“I bought it yesterday.”
“Why two tubes?”
She looked away.
I waited.
Finally, she said, “One was for the dress.”
Cold moved through me.
“And the second?”
Her eyes filled.
“The jewelry case.”
Celia glanced toward the blue velvet box she had brought.
Vanessa shook her head.
“Not that one. The little ivory box Grandma gave her.”
I stared.
“What ivory box?”
Vanessa’s anger faltered.
“The one Mom said you keep in your bedroom.”
I slowly turned toward my mother.
“I do not have an ivory jewelry box from Grandma.”
Mom sat down.
That told me enough.
Vanessa saw it too.
“Oh my God.”
The anger drained from her face.
She looked suddenly exhausted.
“You made that up too?”
Mom covered her mouth.
“I was trying to stop you from asking questions I couldn’t answer.”
“So you invented things she stole?”
“I never thought you would do this.”
“You spent years telling me she took everything!”
“I was trying to keep this family together.”
“No,” Celia said. “You were keeping everyone separated enough that nobody compared stories.”
Mom looked at her sister-in-law.
“You don’t know what it was like after Robert died.”
The mention of my father changed the room.
Dad had died eight years earlier after eighteen months of heart problems.
Mom had handled most of his care.
Vanessa and I helped, but Mom carried the ugliest parts—the nighttime emergencies, insurance fights, medication schedules and bills.
For years I had admired her for surviving it.
Maybe I still did.
But survival did not explain this.
Celia reached into Rose’s coat again and removed a small red notebook.
My mother’s face changed instantly.
“No.”
Celia held it against her chest.
“You told me this was lost.”
“It should have stayed lost.”
“What is it?” Vanessa asked.
“Your grandmother’s household ledger.”
That almost made me laugh.
Of course Grandma kept a ledger.
She had been the kind of woman who wrote down the price of postage stamps and balanced grocery receipts to the penny.
Celia handed it to me.
The first pages were ordinary.
Utilities.
Repairs.
Property tax.
Church donations.
Then I reached the year of Vanessa’s accident.
March 4 — St. Joseph Medical, 11,480.
March 19 — Linden Commercial Lease, 9,200.
April 2 — V. surgery balance, 14,775.
Beside each amount Grandma had drawn a small rose.
Vanessa read over my shoulder.
Her hand began to tremble.
“She paid all that?”
“There’s more,” I said.
June 11 — bracelet sale, 23,600.
August 3 — cabin proceeds received.
Below it, several payments had been recorded.
Mortgage delinquency — 31,000.
Hospital balance — 8,400.
Property tax — 6,200.
The rest continued on the next page.
Except the next page was gone.
Torn out cleanly near the binding.
I ran my finger over the missing edge.
“As an accountant,” Daniel said quietly, “what does that tell you?”
“That someone didn’t want the next entries read.”
Mom stood abruptly.
“We are not doing this.”
Vanessa laughed without humor.
“You mean we’re finally doing exactly what you made sure we never did.”
She looked at me.
For the first time all day, there was no smugness left in her face.
Only pain.
“I thought you got everything.”
“I thought you hated me because Grandma helped you after the accident.”
“She did?”
I nodded.
“Mom told me Grandma spent almost everything she had rescuing you.”
Vanessa stared.
“So she told you I took everything.”
“And told you I did.”
We both turned toward our mother.
Mom started crying.
Not delicately.
Her shoulders folded.
“I lost my husband. I was about to lose the house. Your grandmother was judging every decision I made. Vanessa was drowning. You were doing fine and never needed anything. I made choices.”
“What choices?” I asked.
She looked at the torn ledger.
Then at Grandma’s photograph.
“I took that page out.”
Celia said, “Where is it?”
Mom wiped her face.
“I didn’t destroy it.”
“Where?”
She looked at Vanessa.
Then at me.
“At home.”
Vanessa reached for her coat.
“Then we’re going home.”
I shook my head.
“No.”
Everyone looked at me.
I glanced around the reception room.
At our cake.
At Daniel.
At eighty people who had come to watch us begin a marriage.
“My sister already took my dress,” I said. “Nobody is taking the rest of my wedding day.”
Daniel’s face softened.
I took his hand.
“We finish this tonight.”
Vanessa lowered her coat.
For once, she listened.
Three hours later, after the final guest had gone and Daniel and I had danced to our song in a room half full of empty champagne glasses, Mom approached me near the exit.
She looked twenty years older.
“I’ll bring the page tomorrow.”
“Bring everything.”
She nodded.
Then she whispered, “There is one thing in that ledger Vanessa cannot know before I explain it.”
I looked at her.
“What?”
Mom’s eyes moved toward my sister.
“The largest payment your grandmother ever made wasn’t for Vanessa.”
May you like
She swallowed.
“It was for me.”
