Chapter 11 - A Man With a Shoebox
Mom stood in the garage doorway wearing her good coat and an expression I'd known since kindergarten: the calm one she used right before she exploded.
"Frank, give me that box."
Dad held it against his chest. "It's mine."
"Everything in this family is ours. Now hand it over."
She advanced. Dad backed into the workbench, and the sound of his elbow hitting metal made me step between them.
"Don't come any closer," I said.
Mom pointed at me. "You're turning him against me. You turned your sister against me, and now you're doing the same thing with your wife."
"Nora left because you hit her and accused her of stealing a bracelet you never lost."
Mom's eyes flicked toward Dad. He looked at the floor, but he didn't deny it.
"The contractor is coming back," I said. "We're leaving. You can stay and talk to the drywall."
She tried to push past me. I held my ground without touching her. Dad shuffled to the truck with the box.
"You think he can live without me?" she shouted. "He can't even balance a checking account."
Dad stopped at the truck door. "I used to do it before you changed all the passwords."
I drove him to a different hotel, registered the room in his own name, and helped him call his bank to ask what accounts he could access. He was sixty-eight, frightened, and angry with himself. More than once he reached for his phone to apologize to Mom. Each time he put it down.
"I don't know how to be alone," he admitted.
"Neither does Emily," I said. "She's been alone in a crowded room with my family for years."
Dad looked away. "I know."
By evening Mom had told our relatives that I'd stolen Dad's savings and kidnapped him. Linda left a message saying I should be ashamed. I saved it but didn't call back. There was nothing I could say that would make Linda want facts.
Nora texted at nine: I found the letter from the school counselor. I'm driving in tomorrow. Don't let Dad go back.
I walked toward the guest room to tell him, then remembered he wasn't there. The empty room still smelled faintly of Mom's perfume.
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My phone rang. It was Dad, calling from his new hotel.
"Daniel," he said, "she knows where I'm staying."
