Chapter 2 - The List No One Was Supposed to See
Isaac barely slept.
At 5:17 the next morning, he was sitting alone at the kitchen island with Catherine’s blue list unfolded in front of him.
He had read it so many times that the words seemed branded into the paper.
Bake biscuits.
Done.
Dance in the kitchen.
Apparently half done.
Watch Lily perform.
See the lake.
Call Helen.
Plant something.
Pie for breakfast.
Sunrise outside.
Tell Isaac the truth.
That last line kept pulling his eyes back.
His mother had never been secretive with him.
At least, that was what Isaac had always believed.
He knew about the arguments she had with his father.
He knew about the years when money had been tight.
He knew she hated green beans, loved old western movies, and secretly bought lottery tickets despite calling them “a tax on optimism.”
What truth could she possibly be hiding now?
Footsteps sounded behind him.
Megan entered wearing jeans, an old gray sweater, and no apron.
She stopped when she saw him.
“You’re up early.”
“You left this for me.”
“I did.”
“You knew I’d read it.”
“Yes.”
“Did my mother tell you to show me?”
“No.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed.
“So you broke her confidence.”
Megan’s mouth tightened.
“I made a judgment call.”
“That’s becoming a habit.”
“So is you being angry when you’re scared.”
The answer hit with irritating accuracy.
Isaac folded the paper.
“You don’t know me.”
“No. But I know what fear looks like.”
“And I know boundaries.”
“Do you?”
He stood.
She didn’t move.
“You work for me.”
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The part where money is supposed to end the conversation.”
Isaac stared at her.
Megan took a breath.
“I showed you the list because your mother’s running out of patience, not necessarily time. Everybody speaks around her now. Everybody whispers in hallways. Everybody decides what will upset her. She made that list because she wants to live inside whatever time she has, and she’s afraid you’ll turn every item into a risk assessment.”
“I’m trying to keep her alive.”
“I know.”
“Then you understand.”
“No.” Megan’s voice softened. “I think you’re trying so hard to keep her from dying that you’ve forgotten to let her live.”
Silence filled the kitchen.
Isaac looked away first.
Outside, dawn was turning the windows pale gray.
“Who is Helen?”
Megan hesitated.
“You should ask your mother.”
“I’m asking you.”
“And I’m telling you that one isn’t mine to answer.”
Before Isaac could press further, a small voice came from the hallway.
“Can I have cereal?”
Lily appeared in unicorn pajamas, dragging a blanket behind her.
Isaac checked the time.
“It’s barely six.”
“I woke up.”
Megan smiled.
“Morning.”
Lily went directly to her.
That bothered Isaac more than it should have.
Not because Lily liked Megan.
Because she trusted her automatically.
Megan crouched.
“Cereal or emergency pancakes?”
Lily considered the gravity of the decision.
“Emergency pancakes.”
“Excellent choice.”
“You don’t need to cook,” Isaac said.
Megan glanced at him.
“It’s literally part of my job.”
“You clean.”
“I also cook breakfast three mornings a week.”
Isaac opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
He genuinely had not known that.
Lily climbed onto a stool.
“Can Daddy have pancakes?”
Megan smiled innocently.
“Does Daddy deserve pancakes?”
Isaac gave her a look.
Lily whispered loudly, “He ate Grandma’s biscuit.”
“Then he’s suffered enough.”
Twenty minutes later Catherine entered with Ruth.
Isaac immediately rose.
“Mom.”
Catherine groaned.
“Sit down.”
“You should have called me.”
“To walk twenty feet?”
“You’re tired.”
“I’ve been awake seven minutes. Give me a chance to develop a personality.”
Ruth hid a smile.
Isaac noticed it.
Had everyone in the house formed an alliance while he was traveling?
Catherine saw the blue paper.
Her expression changed.
“Megan.”
Megan stopped at the stove.
“I showed him.”
“I can see that.”
Isaac watched his mother.
“What truth?”
Catherine pulled out a chair.
“Good morning to you too.”
“Mom.”
“Coffee first.”
“Your doctor said—”
“If you mention my doctor before sunrise, I will rewrite my will.”
Megan placed decaf in front of her.
Catherine looked betrayed.
“You’re dead to me.”
“Drink it.”
Isaac almost laughed.
Almost.
He sat opposite his mother.
“You wrote that you need to tell me something.”
“I do.”
“What?”
“Not today.”
“Why?”
“Because today we are planting tomatoes.”
He stared.
“What?”
Catherine pointed to the list.
“Number six.”
“Mom, it’s March.”
“Then we’ll plant something that grows in March.”
“You haven’t gardened in years.”
“Which seems like an excellent reason to start.”
Isaac rubbed his forehead.
Ruth sat beside Catherine.
“I can help supervise.”
“You knew about this?”
Ruth nodded.
“Your mother’s therapist and physician both support mild activity as tolerated. We monitor her symptoms closely.”
Isaac glanced at Megan.
She did not say I told you so.
Her face said it for her.
“Fine,” he said.
Catherine’s eyebrows rose.
“Fine?”
“Supervised. Ten minutes.”
“Twenty.”
“Ten.”
“Fifteen.”
“Twelve.”
Catherine extended her hand.
“Twelve.”
Isaac shook it.
Lily clapped.
“Grandma won!”
“I negotiated,” Isaac corrected.
Catherine smiled.
“You inherited your father’s inability to recognize defeat.”
The sentence changed something in the room.
Isaac’s father, Thomas Mercer, had been dead eleven years.
They rarely mentioned him casually.
Catherine looked down at her coffee.
Megan turned toward the stove.
Isaac noticed both reactions.
“What?”
“Nothing,” Catherine said.
“You looked at Megan.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You did.”
Megan busied herself flipping a pancake.
Isaac’s suspicion returned.
“What does Dad have to do with the list?”
Catherine’s face hardened.
“Leave it alone.”
“Does this involve Helen?”
Her eyes snapped toward him.
There.
A reaction.
“Who told you about Helen?”
“The list.”
Catherine reached for it.
Isaac moved it out of reach.
“Isaac.”
“Who is she?”
His mother stared at him for several long seconds.
“My sister.”
Isaac went still.
“You don’t have a sister.”
“Yes, I do.”
He actually laughed once.
Not because it was funny.
Because the alternative was disbelief.
“You’ve told me your whole life you were an only child.”
“No. I allowed you to assume I was.”
“That’s a ridiculous distinction.”
“It felt less ridiculous thirty-two years ago.”
Lily looked between them.
“Grandma has a sister?”
Catherine’s anger vanished when she looked at her granddaughter.
“Yes, sweetheart.”
“Is she old too?”
Megan choked on a laugh.
Catherine gave Lily an offended look.
“She is four years younger than I am.”
“So... still old?”
“Finish your pancakes.”
Lily obeyed.
Isaac did not.
“Why have I never met her?”
Catherine’s hands began to tremble.
Not from weakness this time.
Emotion.
“Because we stopped speaking.”
“Thirty-two years?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She looked toward the window.
“Because sometimes people get very good at defending the mistake they made.”
“Which one of you made it?”
Catherine’s mouth curved sadly.
“Both of us.”
Isaac pushed the blue paper toward her.
“Then call her.”
“No.”
“You wrote it down.”
“I know what I wrote.”
“So call.”
“It isn’t that easy.”
“You just spent breakfast telling me you want to live.”
“I do.”
“Then stop hiding.”
Catherine stared at him.
Megan quietly switched off the stove.
Isaac knew he had gone too far.
But Catherine surprised him.
“You want honesty?”
“Yes.”
“Fine.”
She leaned forward.
“The reason I haven’t spoken to Helen in thirty-two years is tied to your father.”
Isaac’s chest tightened.
Catherine continued.
“And the reason I wrote ‘tell Isaac the truth’ is because there is something about Thomas you never knew.”
For the first time that morning, Isaac did not have a response.
Lily slid off her stool.
“Can I go get dressed?”
Megan took her hand immediately.
“I’ll help.”
Isaac understood what she was doing.
Giving them privacy.
At the doorway, Catherine called, “Megan.”
She turned.
Catherine’s voice was quiet.
“Bring me the red box.”
Megan froze.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“Mom,” Isaac said. “What red box?”
Catherine closed her eyes.
“The one I should have opened with you eleven years ago.”
Megan disappeared upstairs.
When she returned, she carried a battered red metal box.
Isaac recognized it instantly.
His father had kept it in the garage.
Catherine placed her trembling hand on the lid.
Inside were photographs, a yellowed envelope, and one unopened letter.
Across the front, in Thomas Mercer’s handwriting, were three words.
For my son.
And Isaac suddenly understood that whatever his mother had been hiding had not begun six months ago.
May you like
It had been waiting for him for eleven years.
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