Chapter 4: What Patricia Was Hiding
She took the post down by nine that morning.
Nathan checked.
It was gone.
He made breakfast when we got home — eggs, toast, coffee — and we sat at the kitchen table without talking much.
He reached across and held my hand for a moment.
That was enough.
But I kept thinking about that piece of paper.
The way her hand had gone straight to it.
The way she'd folded it tighter before putting it away.
The way her whole posture had changed when she touched it, like she'd remembered something she needed to protect.
I didn't say anything to Nathan.
Not yet.
Two days later, his sister called.
Diane was three years older than Nathan, lived forty minutes away, and had always been pleasant to me in the careful way that meant she was staying out of things.
We weren't close.
We weren't unfriendly.
We existed politely in each other's lives at Christmas and birthdays and that was the arrangement.
She called Nathan's phone, but he was in the shower, so I answered.
"Oh," she said.
"Hi.
Is Nathan there?"
"He'll be out in a few minutes.
Can I help?"
A pause.
"I saw what happened.
With Mom's post.
And then Nathan's."
"Okay."
"I just want you to know," Diane said carefully, "that I don't think what she did was right."
I waited.
"But I also think you should know something.
About why she's been the way she's been lately."
"What do you mean?"
Another pause, longer this time.
"She's been having some health problems.
She hasn't told Nathan because she doesn't want him to worry.
But she's been scared, I think.
And when people are scared, they sometimes—"
"Take photos of their sick daughters-in-law and post them online?"
Diane went quiet.
"I'm sorry," I said.
"That was sharper than I meant it."
"No," Diane said.
"You're right.
There's no excuse for what she did.
I just thought if you understood the context—"
"What kind of health problems?"
"Her heart.
She had some tests done six weeks ago.
She's been waiting on results.
It's been hard on her."
I sat down at the kitchen table.
"She hasn't told Nathan any of this?"
"No.
She made me promise not to.
But after this week, I thought you should know.
I don't want this to get worse between all of you."
Nathan came downstairs.
He saw my face and stopped in the doorway.
"Diane," I said.
"I think you need to tell Nathan yourself.
He's right here."
I held the phone out to him.
He took it slowly, reading my expression, and put it to his ear.
I watched his face change as his sister talked.
By the time he hung up, he wasn't angry anymore.
He looked like someone had quietly pulled the ground out from under him.
"She's been dealing with this for six weeks," he said.
"Alone."
"I know."
"Why wouldn't she tell me?"
I didn't answer that.
Because the answer was complicated, and it wasn't mine to give.
He set the phone on the table.
He stared at it.
"That still doesn't make what she did okay," he said.
It sounded like he was reminding himself.
"No," I agreed.
"It doesn't."
He looked up at me.
"But it explains something."
"It explains something," I said.
"It doesn't explain everything."
He nodded slowly.
Then he picked up his phone and called his mother.
She answered on the second ring.
He didn't mention Diane.
He just said, "Mom.
I think we need to talk.
Not about the post.
About you."
The silence on her end lasted a long time.
Then Patricia said something that made Nathan close his eyes.
May you like
I couldn't hear the words.
But I saw his hand tighten around the phone.
