Chapter 6
She began backing toward the porch.
“I have copies,” I said.
“Bank statements.
Checks.
Transfers.
The deed.”
Marlo’s lips parted.
No joke came.
No insult.
No clever response.
She ran.
She dropped her keys twice before getting into her car.
Then she tore out of the driveway.
When I turned around, Mom was standing behind me.
“What did you mean?”
Her voice sounded thin.
I leaned against the kitchen counter.
After Dad’s funeral, I had cleaned his office.
Behind old tax folders in a filing cabinet, I found bank statements.
Money had been leaving his account in strange amounts.
$3,500.
$8,000.
$4,200.
Always to Marlo.
More than
$52,000
altogether.
Underneath the statements was a recorded quitclaim deed transferring Dad’s house to her.
The signature looked wrong.
I knew Dad’s signature.
During his final months, I had watched him struggle to write his own name on Ren’s first Christmas card.
His hand shook too badly.
Yet the signature on the deed flowed smoothly.
Perfectly.
Almost as if someone had practiced it.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Mom whispered.
“Because we had just buried him.”
My voice cracked.
“You could barely get out of bed.
I thought exposing Marlo would destroy whatever was left of this family.”
Mom closed her eyes.
For several seconds, she said nothing.
Then she opened them.
“I believe you.”
Within twenty minutes, the birthday party had emptied.
Everybody suddenly had somewhere else to be.
Josie hugged me before leaving.
“It’s about time somebody stopped protecting her.”
When the house was finally quiet, I walked to our bedroom.
I knocked.
Elias opened the door.
Ren was asleep against his shoulder.
Her copper hair stood up in every direction.
His eyes were red.
I sat beside him on the bed.
“I’m sorry,” he said.
I stared at our daughter.
“For what?”
“For letting them make me doubt you.”
I wanted to be angry.
Part of me was.
But he looked destroyed.
Then he said something worse.
“I already scheduled a test.”
My stomach dropped.
“What?”
“Downtown.
A lab.”
“You were going to do it without telling me?”
He lowered his head.
“Yes.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
For nearly a minute, neither of us spoke.
Finally he said, “You can hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“I hate me.”
I looked at Ren.
Then back at him.
“If we do it, we do it together.”
He stared at me.