Chapter 10 - The Secret Ledger
But the letter remained unopened.
Every night, I placed it on my desk.
Every morning, I put it back in the drawer.
I told myself I was too busy.
I knew that wasn’t true.
There are some questions we avoid not because we fear the answer.
We fear what the answer might require us to reconsider.
Three weeks after I first entered Apartment 4B, Sarah called my office.
Not my assistant.
Me.
“I found something.”
Her voice sounded uneasy.
“What?”
“I’m not sure.”
“That’s not helpful.”
“I know.”
“Is Lily okay?”
“She’s fine. She’s at school.”
“Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
I relaxed slightly.
“What did you find?”
“There was another box in my mother’s storage things.”
“And?”
“It has your mother’s name on it.”
I stood.
“I’ll come by.”
“You don’t need to rush.”
“I’m not rushing.”
I was already grabbing my coat.
When I arrived, Sarah had placed a small wooden box on the table.
It was worn along the edges.
The latch was tarnished.
I recognized it immediately.
My mother kept important papers inside it.
Birth certificates.
Receipts.
Letters.
The deed from my grandfather’s tiny parcel of land.
I hadn’t seen it since shortly after her funeral.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was packed with my mother’s belongings.”
“That’s impossible.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“I searched my mother’s apartment after she died.”
“Maybe Evelyn already had it.”
“Why?”
Sarah shook her head.
“That’s what I’m hoping you can tell me.”
I opened the box.
Inside were photographs.
Receipts.
Old bank slips.
A church program.
Then I found something that made my hand stop.
A ledger.
Small.
Brown cover.
My mother’s handwriting filled the pages.
Dates.
Amounts.
Names.
At first I assumed it was household budgeting.
Then I noticed the payments.
Evelyn — $25.
Martin — $10.
Rose — $40.
Grocery fund — $18.
Heating — $12.
Dozens of entries.
Some names I vaguely remembered from the neighborhood.
Others I didn’t.
“What is this?” I asked.
Sarah sat beside me.
“I think our mothers were helping people.”
“With what money?”
“That’s what I couldn’t understand.”
I flipped through the pages.
The amounts were small.
Five dollars.
Ten.
Twenty.
But in the neighborhood we had lived in, twenty dollars could matter.
Especially back then.
Then one name appeared repeatedly.
Mine.
Nathan — tuition.
Nathan — books.
Nathan — bus.
Nathan — exam fee.
My pulse began to rise.
“No.”
Sarah leaned closer.
“What?”
“I paid my own way.”
“I’m sure you did.”
“No. I mean it.”
My voice came out harsher than intended.
“I worked through school. My mother barely had anything.”
“I’m not saying otherwise.”
I flipped further.
There were entries during my first year at college.
My second.
Even my third.
Then I saw a name written beside several larger amounts.
E. Mercer.
Sarah’s mother.
“She helped pay for my school?”
May you like
Sarah looked stunned.
“I didn’t know.”
