Chapter 7: What Stephanie Said on the Porch
Stephanie arrived seven minutes early.
I saw her car from the kitchen window — the silver sedan she'd driven for years, the one Frank used to joke was held together by stubbornness.
She sat in it for almost three minutes before getting out.
I opened the front door before she reached it.
She looked older than she had at the funeral.
Or maybe I was just seeing her differently now, without the performance of grief between us.
She was wearing a plain gray jacket and she was not carrying anything — no bag, no folder, no armor of any kind.
"Thank you for agreeing to this," she said.
"Come in."
I led her through the house to the back porch.
I had made coffee.
Two cups.
I set hers on the small table beside the chair Frank used to sit in and took the other chair for myself.
She sat down and looked out at the garden.
Frank's roses were still blooming along the far fence — late in the season, but holding on.
"I didn't know Brad asked Finch to fabricate anything," she said.
She wasn't looking at me.
"I want you to know that.
I knew about the investigation.
I supported it.
But I didn't know about that email until Brad told me last night."
"All right," I said.
"I'm not saying that to excuse what I did.
I know what I said to Donna and the others was wrong.
I knew it when I was saying it." She picked up the coffee cup and held it without drinking.
"I told myself I was protecting the family.
But I think I was just — I was angry.
And I didn't know what else to do with it."
"Angry at me."
"Angry at the situation.
At Dad for moving on.
At myself for not being able to accept it." She finally looked at me.
"I was cruel to you.
For years.
And you never once — you never fought back.
You never said anything at family dinners.
You just kept showing up."
"I showed up for Frank."
"I know." She set the cup down.
"That's the part that's hardest to sit with.
You were there for him in a way that Brad and I weren't.
We visited on holidays.
You were there every day." Her voice tightened.
"When he got sick — the last year — Brad and I kept saying we'd come more often.
We didn't.
You were the one driving him to appointments.
You were the one who knew which medications he was on and what time he had to take them and what he could and couldn't eat." She stopped.
"He told me once that you never made him feel like a burden.
I think that was the kindest thing anyone ever said about someone."
The roses moved slightly in the wind along the fence.
"He told you that?" I said.
"Last Christmas.
We were in the kitchen and you were outside with Brad, and he just said it.
Out of nowhere.
'She never makes me feel like a burden, Steph.'" Her eyes were wet.
"I didn't say anything back.
I should have."
I looked at the garden for a moment.
"The messages you sent to the neighbors," I said.
"Donna Marsh called me this morning."
Stephanie closed her eyes briefly.
"She wanted me to know that she never believed it.
That she'd told Frank directly and that Frank had thanked her." I paused.
"She also said she was sorry she didn't call me at the time."
"I'll call Donna," Stephanie said.
"And the others.
I'll tell them it wasn't true.
That I was — that I was grieving and I handled it badly and none of it was true."
"That would matter to me."
"I know it doesn't fix it."
"No.
But it's the right thing to do."
She nodded.
She was quiet for a moment, and then she said, "Are you going to pursue the defamation claim?"
I looked at her directly.
"Are you and Brad withdrawing the challenge to the will?"
"Yes.
Brad called Delgado's office this morning.
It's being withdrawn." She met my eyes.
"That's not why I came here.
I came because I needed to say these things to your face.
Not through lawyers."
I believed her.
I wasn't entirely sure why, but I did.
"Then no," I said.
"I'm not pursuing the claim."
She let out a breath that had clearly been held for some time.
"There's one condition," I said.
She looked up.
"The letter.
The one in the box.
I haven't opened it yet.
I want to open it here, today, and I want you to be present when I do."
She looked uncertain.
"Why?"
"Because Frank prepared everything in that box knowing it might come to this.
And I think he would want at least one of his children in the room."
She was quiet for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
I went inside and came back with the folded letter.
I sat down, and with Stephanie watching from across the small table, I opened it.
Frank's handwriting.
Three pages, front and back.
May you like
The date at the top was nine months ago.
I began to read.
