Chapter 13 - VANESSA AND LILY
Vanessa waited five days before asking to speak with Lily.
I appreciated that.
She asked me first.
Then Mrs. Alvarez.
Then Lily.
Lily said:
“Okay.”
They sat in the breakfast room.
Door open.
I stayed within sight and far enough away not to turn it into theater.
Vanessa did not bring the purse.
She had already paid a leather repair shop to fix it.
That was not the apology.
Good.
“I called you a thief.”
Lily nodded.
“You weren't.”
Another nod.
“I grabbed something that belonged to you.”
“It was Mom's purse.”
Vanessa swallowed.
“Yes.”
“That was mean.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Vanessa looked toward me.
I did not help.
“Because I was scared about adult money problems and angry about changes in the house.”
Lily frowned.
“I didn't change the money.”
“No.”
“Mom died.”
Vanessa's face tightened.
“Yes.”
“I didn't do that either.”
“No.”
There.
An eight-year-old should not have to defend herself against adults' resentment.
Vanessa continued:
“I put things on you that weren't yours.”
Lily looked at her.
“Can I have my purse back?”
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Vanessa gave it to her.
Repaired clasp.
No new designer purse replacing it.
Lily checked the plastic horse.
Still inside.
Then left.
No hug.
No forgiveness speech.
Vanessa watched her go.
“I don't think she likes me.”
“Probably not right now.”
She nodded.
Then looked at me.
“Do you?”
I did not answer quickly.
“I don't know what happens to us.”
Her eyes filled.
I hated that and did not change the answer.
She had moved to a furnished apartment downtown.
Not punishment.
Space.
We were seeing a marriage counselor once a week.
Not because therapy would drive the plot.
Because when two adults have been married eleven years and one secretly hides a beneficiary upstairs, professional help seems proportionate.
The actual plot continued elsewhere.
Andrew Reed found Margaret's attorney.
Ninety-one.
Retired.
Gerald Moss.
He remembered the sealed Bennett letter.
“Daniel at forty.”
he said.
“Michael if living.”
Yes.
Where was it?
Not with him.
Margaret took it back after Richard died.
Why?
“She said circumstances changed.”
What circumstances?
Gerald did not know.
Then he remembered Claire.
She visited him last year.
Asked whether the sealed letter had legal effect.
He told her:
“No. It's a personal instruction.”
She asked:
“Then can I open it if I find it?”
Gerald said:
“Legally? Probably. Morally? Ask your mother, which is difficult because she's dead.”
Claire had laughed.
Then asked one final question.
“Did Margaret ever tell you who the letter was from?”
Gerald said:
“Yes.”
I leaned forward.
“Who?”
“Richard.”
My father.
The man whose behavior had split Michael from the family.
The sealed letter was not from Margaret.
It was from Richard Bennett.
May you like
Written before he died.
And addressed to both sons.
