Chapter 6
So instead I asked, “What happened to your accounting license?”
“Technically, it was never revoked. But the complaint stayed open long enough that nobody wanted to hire me. By the time it was closed without a finding, the damage was done.”
“You could have sued.”
“With what?”
I had no answer.
Mabel watched me for a moment.
“Money creates options, Damian. When you don’t have money, being right and being able to prove you’re right are two different things.”
There was no accusation in her tone.
That made the words harder to hear.
The screen door creaked.
Sadie stepped onto the porch carrying a plastic plate with half a piece of toast on it.
Her dark curls were gathered into two uneven pigtails.
She looked at me solemnly.
“You came back.”
I swallowed.
“I did.”
“Mama said you knew her when she was little.”
Mabel closed her eyes briefly.
“When we were young, honey.”
Sadie considered this correction.
Then she held out the toast.
“You want some?”
I looked at Mabel.
She gave the smallest nod.
“Thank you,” I told Sadie, “but you should finish it.”
“I’m full.”
“You ate three bites,” Mabel said.
“Four.”
“Three and a corner.”
Sadie looked offended by the accounting.
For the first time since seeing Mabel on the road, I laughed.
It escaped before I could stop it.
Mabel’s mouth twitched.
Sadie looked pleased with herself.
Then she climbed onto Mabel’s lap and began telling her a complicated story about a bird she had seen outside the kitchen window.
I listened.
I did not stare at her eyes.
Or at least I tried not to.
After a minute, Mabel sent her inside to find her crayons.
When the screen door closed, Mabel said, “You want to ask.”
“Yes.”
“Then ask once.”
“Is Sadie my daughter?”
She looked directly at me.
“I believe she is.”
The world became very still.
“Believe?”
“There hasn’t been a test.”
“Was there anyone else?”
“No.”
My breath left slowly.
Mabel’s gaze did not waver.
“I found out I was pregnant seven weeks after you left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
A shadow passed across her face.
“I tried.”
Lydia’s words came back to me.
Mabel called the office.
“What happened?”
“Not today.”
“Mabel—”
“Not today, Damian.”
I stopped.
She had given me more than I deserved.
“All right.”
“If you want a test, we can discuss it. But Sadie is not going to be pulled into adult confusion. She has a stable life. She is loved. She is happy.”
“I understand.”
“Do you?”
“I’m trying to.”
Her expression softened by a fraction.
“That may be the first useful thing you’ve said since you appeared on my porch.”
I nodded.
“I’ll take it.”
Before I left, I asked one more question.
“Did the accusation happen before or after you learned you were pregnant?”
“After.”
“How long after?”
“Eleven days.”
That stayed with me.
By the afternoon, Lydia was driving from Houston.
She arrived just before sunset and found me at the Bellweather public library, where I had been using a back table as an improvised office.
She dropped a cardboard archive box onto the table.
“You owe me dinner.”
“What is this?”
“Records that were never digitized.”
I opened the lid.
Old vendor contracts.
Meeting notes.
Bank reconciliations.
A spiral notebook with Ruth’s handwriting.
“How did you get this?”
“Storage room at the old office.”
“Does Ruth know?”
“No.”
“Grant?”
“No.”
Lydia pulled out the chair opposite me.
“You look terrible.”
“I may have a daughter.”
For once, Lydia Vance had no immediate reply.
She stared at me.
Then her eyes filled.
“Oh.”
“One syllable?”
“I’m processing.”
“So am I.”
“How old?”
“Three.”
Lydia covered her mouth for a moment.
Then she whispered, “The call.”
“Yes.”
She sat back slowly.
“That’s why Mabel called.”
“I think so.”
“And Ruth said she handled it.”
“Yes.”
Lydia looked toward the archive box.
Neither of us said what we were both thinking.
We spent three hours going through records.
At 8:17 p.m., Lydia found the first significant discrepancy.
“Damian.”
I moved to her side of the table.
She pointed to a vendor-approval sheet.
Red Mesa Advisory Services.
May you like
Approved by Grant Vance.
Attached was a bank-routing update.
