Chapter 10 - My Mother Comes Alone
Mom arrived at my house three days later without Garrick, without flowers, and without the polished smile she wore for family photographs. She stood on the porch in a camel coat, pale and drawn. My children were at a neighbor’s house, and Natalie knew where I would be.
“You have five minutes,” I said.
Mom looked past me into the hall. “You’ve changed the locks on your heart, too.”
“You don’t get to talk about my heart after what you did.”
She flinched. For once, she didn’t answer immediately.
“I never meant for it to go this far,” she said.
“You meant to hide it for twenty-one years. That’s far enough.”
She sat on the edge of the porch bench, hands clasped tightly. She said Garrick’s company had been drowning when Grandpa died. She had taken a distribution to save it, then another to cover the first. Each time she told herself she would repay the trust. When the company improved, Garrick wanted more. When it failed again, she told herself she was protecting her son from ruin.
“And me?” I asked. “What did you tell yourself about me?”
Her eyes filled. “You were always capable. You never asked for help. I thought you would be all right.”
“I was seventeen.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe Grandpa forgot me. You watched me work two jobs through college. You told me there wasn’t money for Lily’s braces, then bought Garrick a new truck.”
Mom pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I told myself you didn’t need it.”
“You didn’t ask what I needed. You decided my pain was cheaper than his.”
She began to cry, quietly and without performance. I remembered the mother who used to brush my hair before school—and her smile beneath the Christmas tree.
“Did you forge my signature?” I asked.
She looked down.
That was answer enough.
“Did you know the transfer to Garrick was going to happen?”
“I signed it.”
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“Then why are you here?”
Mom lifted her face. “Because there’s something in Martin’s office you haven’t found. A second original. If Garrick gets to it first, he’ll destroy it.”
