Chapter 4
After-school programs.
Food drives.
Small-business grants.
“She had access?”
“She administered it.”
“Why was it still usable?”
“It wasn’t.”
I frowned.
“Then how was the phone opened with it?”
“Someone used old incorporation documents and identifying information attached to Rebecca.”
My father’s expression hardened.
“That information should not have been publicly available.”
“But somebody had it.”
“Yes.”
I looked at the photograph again.
“What if the initials M.C. don’t mean Michael Carter?”
Ethan spoke.
“I thought the same thing.”
My father looked at him.
“You did?”
“Yes.”
“Who else?”
I started listing possibilities.
“Michelle Cooper. Matthew Cole. Mary Collins.”
“Or they could mean nothing,” Ethan said. “People save contacts strangely.”
He held up his phone.
“My aunt is saved as Supreme Commander.”
I looked at him.
“Seriously?”
“No.”
I laughed.
My father appeared unimpressed.
The sound helped anyway.
Then Michael opened a file.
“There is one more issue.”
Of course there was.
“Carter Civic Holdings had two authorized administrators.”
“You and Mom?”
“No.”
He placed a copy of an old corporate authorization form on the table.
My mother’s signature was first.
Beneath it was another.
MARIAN COLE.
M.C.
“Who is Marian Cole?”
My father leaned back.
“Your mother’s closest friend.”
I waited.
“I’ve never heard that name.”
“No.”
“Why?”
He looked toward the window.
That was when I understood the answer would have nothing to do with business.
“What happened?”
“Your mother and Marian had a falling-out about a year before Rebecca became ill.”
“Over what?”
“You.”
I stared at him.
“Me?”
Michael nodded.
“Marian believed we were raising you too privately.”
“That seems ironic considering the week I’m having.”
“She believed secrecy would eventually become a cage.”
Something moved inside me.
“What did Mom believe?”
“At first, she disagreed.”
“At first?”
My father folded his hands.
“Then she started to wonder whether Marian was right.”
I looked down at the authorization sheet.
“Where is Marian now?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“We lost contact after your mother died.”
“Dad, this woman had access to one of Mom’s companies and argued with you about how I was being raised.”
“With Rebecca.”
“You too?”
A pause.
“With me too.”
There it was.
“What did she say?”
Michael smiled without humor.
“Many things.”
“Pick one.”
He hesitated.
Then:
“She said I loved you so much I was teaching you that the world was too dangerous to enter without my permission.”
The room went quiet.
Even Ethan looked away.
I stared at my father.
“Was she wrong?”
Michael met my eyes.
“No.”
That answer came faster than I expected.
I sat back.
“Did Mom agree?”
“Eventually.”
“What happened?”
My father rubbed a hand over his face.
It was an old gesture.
One he used when a memory tired him.
“Your mother wanted to change things gradually. More school events. More friends at the house. Fewer drivers. Fewer restrictions.”
“I remember.”
I did.
The last two years before she became ill had been the freest of my childhood.
I had thought I was simply getting older.
“She convinced me,” Michael said.
“Marian convinced her?”
“Partly.”
“Then why did they stop speaking?”
Michael looked toward the old document.
“Because Marian wanted Rebecca to leave me.”
The sentence surprised me.
“Why?”
“She believed the life around me would eventually consume all of you.”
“Was she right?”
“Claire.”
“I’m asking.”
My father’s voice lowered.
“She was right to worry.”
Not the same as yes.
Not the same as no.
Maybe it was the closest answer he had.
“What did Mom do?”
“She stayed.”
“And Marian?”
“Left Chicago.”
“Where?”
“Colorado, last I heard.”
Ethan leaned forward.
“Do we know if she’s back?”
“No.”
“Can we find out?”
Michael looked at me.
Not Ethan.
Me.
A tiny gesture.
But important.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I thought about it.
“I want to know whether Marian sent the message.”
“And if she did?”
“I want to know why.”
No threats.
No punishment.
Just why.
May you like
Michael nodded.
“All right.”
