Chapter 5: The Second Page
The second sheet was smaller.
Folded twice.
When I opened it, I found a handwritten list.
My mother's writing again, but faster this time, less careful — like she had written it quickly, while she still could.
Eight names.
Dates beside each one.
Dollar amounts.
I recognized most of the names.
Family members.
People who had contributed to the care fund.
People who believed their money had gone toward keeping my mother comfortable in her final months.
Beside each name, my mother had written what she believed they had actually given.
And beside that, in a different column, what the fund records had shown received.
The numbers didn't match.
Not by small amounts.
By thousands.
"She documented everything," Paul said quietly, reading over my shoulder.
"She was an accountant for thirty years," I said.
"Of course she did."
Daniel was still standing nearby.
He hadn't left the table.
I looked up at him.
"Did she tell you what was in the envelope?"
"No," he said.
"She just told me it was important.
And that I'd know when the right moment was."
I looked back at the list.
Christina was craning her neck, trying to read it from across the table.
I folded it before she could.
"You can't just—" she started.
"I can," I said.
"And I will."
My cousin Gary, who had stayed at the table through everything, leaned forward.
He was a quiet man.
He hadn't spoken once all evening.
"How much are we talking about?" he asked.
"I don't know yet.
I need to go through all of it properly."
"Ballpark."
I looked at the list again.
Added the discrepancies roughly in my head.
"Somewhere between fifteen and twenty thousand dollars."
Gary sat back.
He looked at Christina.
Christina looked at the tablecloth.
"I want to be very clear about something," Gary said, his voice measured and low.
"My parents gave to that fund.
My mother gave eight hundred dollars she saved from her pension.
She told me about it.
She was proud to help."
Christina said nothing.
"She's seventy-four years old," Gary continued.
"She lives on a fixed income.
And you took her money."
"I was going to pay it back—"
"You said that already." Gary's voice didn't rise.
It got quieter.
"It didn't mean anything the first time."
The remaining relatives at the table had gone very still.
Nobody was eating.
Nobody was reaching for their wine.
Christina turned to me.
Her voice shifted into something softer, more urgent.
"Look.
I know this looks terrible.
I know what you must think of me right now.
But I am still your husband's sister.
We are still family.
Whatever this is, we can handle it privately.
We don't need to involve anyone else."
"You mean we don't need to involve anyone official," Paul said.
She hesitated.
"I mean there's no reason to make this bigger than it needs to be."
I put the envelope in my bag.
"Christina," I said, "my mother spent the last two years of her life fighting to stay alive.
She spent her last weeks documenting what you did so that I would have proof.
She handed it to a stranger and trusted him to give it to me at the right moment." I stood up.
"The least I can do is take it seriously."
"Please." Her voice cracked.
"Please don't do anything tonight.
Just — sleep on it.
That's all I'm asking."
Paul stood up beside me.
"We'll be in touch," he said.
We walked out.
Behind us, I heard Christina say something to the remaining relatives.
I didn't catch the words.
I didn't turn around.
Outside, the night air was cold and sharp.
Paul put his arm around me.
We walked to the car without speaking.
When we got in, I sat for a moment with the envelope in my lap.
"Are you all right?" Paul asked.
"No," I said honestly.
"But I know what I need to do."
He nodded.
He started the car.
My phone buzzed.
A text from a number I didn't recognize.
*This is Daniel.
I hope you don't mind — your aunt Ruth gave me your number.
There's something else I should have told you tonight.
Something your mother said to me the last time I saw her.
I didn't think it was my place to say it in front of everyone.
Can we talk?*
I stared at the screen.
Paul glanced over.
"Who is it?"
"Daniel," I said.
"The waiter."
"What does he want?"
May you like
I read the message again.
"He says there's something else."
