Chapter 12 - Finding Margaret Ellis
The bank manager returned a few minutes later with the information she had promised.
Margaret Ellis had activated the successor clause.
Eighteen months earlier.
At the same time, Evelyn had been named without her knowledge because Daniel Shaw’s estate papers had designated her as successor custodian of all Meridian educational records.
“It happened automatically,” Nina explained.
Evelyn frowned.
“Daniel could have told me.”
“Maybe he thought he had.”
That changed her expression.
Daniel had been ill for years.
Illness rearranges time.
Conversations are postponed because there will always be tomorrow, right until there isn’t.
Evelyn touched the silver pendant.
“He tried to tell me something about an archive near the end.”
“What did he say?” I asked.
“That there were things I would understand later.”
She looked down.
“I thought it was medication talking.”
Nobody commented.
There are regrets that do not benefit from witnesses.
Nina copied the relevant bank records.
“We should contact Margaret directly.”
I agreed.
Grace said, “I want to call her.”
“No.”
The word came automatically.
Grace’s mouth tightened.
I closed my eyes.
“Correction.”
She waited.
“I would prefer that Nina make the first call.”
“Why?”
“Because we don’t know what Margaret knows.”
“She was my teacher.”
“Which means you’re emotionally involved.”
“So are you.”
“Yes.”
That caught her off guard.
I continued.
“That’s why I’m not making the call either.”
Grace considered it.
“Okay.”
A compromise.
Another unfamiliar miracle.
Nina called the number on file.
Disconnected.
The forwarding address led to Scottsdale, Arizona.
No current phone number.
The trust records listed only an email.
Nina sent a short message.
Margaret,
We are reviewing records connected to the Maria Caruso Educational Trust and would appreciate speaking with you. Evelyn Shaw and Anthony Caruso are present.
Grace is well and is also aware of the records.
Please contact me when convenient.
Nina Patel
Grace listened while she read it aloud.
“That’s boring.”
“It’s designed to be boring.”
“Why?”
“Boring messages get answered.”
I looked at Nina.
“I should hire you.”
“No.”
“I didn’t say for what.”
“Still no.”
We left the bank shortly after noon.
Outside, Chicago moved around us without concern for family mysteries.
Taxis rolled through intersections.
Office workers carried paper cups.
A delivery cyclist shouted at a sedan.
Grace stood beside me beneath the awning.
“Can we walk somewhere before going home?”
I looked at Marco, who had arrived with the car.
He waited.
The old me would have said no because our schedule had changed.
Instead I asked, “Where?”
Grace smiled.
“I don’t care.”
That answer was harder.
She wasn’t asking for a destination.
She was asking for spontaneity.
Evelyn understood before I did.
“There’s a café two blocks east.”
Grace turned toward her.
“Have you been?”
“Yes.”
“Good?”
“The cinnamon rolls are irresponsible.”
Grace grinned.
I looked at Marco.
“Walk behind us.”
“How far?”
“Farther than usual.”
He nodded.
We walked.
Grace used her cane.
Not my elbow.
I stayed to her right.
People moved around us.
A man nearly bumped into her at the corner, apologized, and kept moving.
I experienced thirty seconds of unreasonable rage toward a stranger who had done nothing wrong.
Grace continued without comment.
At the café, she ordered hot chocolate.
Evelyn got tea.
I ordered coffee.
Grace tilted her face toward me.
“You’re being weird.”
“How?”
“You haven’t complained about the table.”
“What’s wrong with the table?”
“It’s near the door.”
I looked around.
She was right.
My back faced half the room.
I usually chose tables based on visibility and exits.
“I’m adapting.”
“Is it painful?”
“Extremely.”
She smiled into her cup.
There was something humbling about seeing how little freedom required.
Not a dramatic declaration.
Not abandoning caution.
Just allowing a table to be a table.
On the drive home, Grace fell asleep against the window.
Evelyn sat beside her.
I sat across from them in the rear-facing seat.
For several miles, nobody spoke.
Then Evelyn said quietly, “She’ll remember today.”
“The bank?”
“The walk.”
I looked at Grace.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“How?”
“Because children remember the first time a parent’s fear stops filling the entire room.”
