Chapter 4 - The Woman Catherine Refused to Forgive
Helen Ward answered on the third ring.
Isaac had found her number faster than he expected.
Money made locating people easy.
Understanding them was harder.
“Hello?”
The voice sounded younger than Catherine’s but similar enough that Isaac felt an immediate chill.
“Helen Ward?”
“Yes.”
“My name is Isaac Mercer.”
Silence.
Then a small intake of breath.
“Isaac?”
“You know who I am.”
“I know.”
He looked through the windshield of his parked car.
He had driven twenty minutes from home before making the call because Catherine had refused to stay in the room while he dialed.
“Why haven’t you spoken to my mother in thirty-two years?”
Helen gave a broken laugh.
“Good morning to you too.”
“I don’t have time for small talk.”
“You sound exactly like your father.”
That stopped him.
“I found his letter.”
Another silence.
This one longer.
“So Catherine finally gave it to you.”
“Yes.”
“I wondered if she ever would.”
“I need to know what happened.”
“Ask your mother.”
“I did.”
“And?”
“She told me not to call you.”
Helen sighed.
“That sounds like Catherine.”
“Did my father know he had a heart condition?”
“Yes.”
“Did you?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I drove him home from the cardiologist the day he found out.”
Isaac gripped the steering wheel.
“My mother wasn’t there?”
“She was.”
“Then what happened afterward?”
Helen did not answer.
“Helen.”
“Your father wanted to sell the company and move your mother to Maine.”
“Why Maine?”
“They honeymooned there.”
Isaac remembered framed photographs of a rocky coastline.
“Mom refused?”
“At first.”
“Why?”
“Because she thought Thomas was panicking.”
“What does that have to do with you?”
Helen exhaled.
“I told her he wasn’t.”
Isaac waited.
“I told her she should go.”
“That caused a thirty-two-year feud?”
“No.”
“Then what did?”
A long pause.
“Money.”
Isaac almost laughed.
Of course.
It always came back to money.
Helen continued.
“Your grandfather left Catherine and me property when he died. Catherine used her share years earlier to help Thomas start the company.”
Isaac knew that part.
“What happened to yours?”
“I offered it to them.”
“To my parents?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because selling quickly would have meant losing almost everything they had built. Thomas needed enough cash to close certain debts cleanly before the sale.”
“And Mom refused?”
“She accused me of trying to buy influence over your father.”
“That sounds irrational.”
“She was terrified.”
“That isn’t an excuse.”
“No.”
Helen’s voice remained calm.
“Neither is what I did next.”
“What?”
“I told her Thomas had already asked me for help.”
Isaac frowned.
“He had?”
“Yes.”
“Without telling her?”
“Yes.”
“That’s what she was angry about?”
“Partly.”
“What else?”
Helen became quiet.
When she spoke again, her voice trembled.
“I told Catherine that Thomas was afraid she loved the company more than she loved him.”
Isaac closed his eyes.
He could imagine his mother hearing that.
Proud.
Frightened.
Watching her husband contemplate mortality.
Hearing her younger sister claim to understand him better than she did.
“She told you to leave.”
“She told me I had always been jealous of her marriage.”
“Were you?”
Helen laughed softly.
“No. I envied the family. There’s a difference.”
Isaac stared at the dashboard.
“What happened after Dad died?”
“I came to the funeral.”
“I don’t remember you.”
“You were surrounded by people.”
“Did you speak to Mom?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say?”
“I told her Thomas had written you a letter.”
“So you knew about it.”
“He asked me to make sure you got it if anything happened.”
Isaac felt anger rise again.
“And you failed.”
“Yes.”
The immediate admission disarmed him.
“Why didn’t you contact me?”
“I tried.”
“When?”
“The first year.”
“I never heard from you.”
“Your mother returned every letter.”
Isaac’s eyes narrowed.
“I sent cards too. Birthday cards. Christmas cards. One when you got married. One when Lily was born.”
“You knew about Lily?”
“I followed from a distance.”
“Why stop?”
“Because after twenty years of being told not to come back, eventually you begin to believe the door is locked.”
Isaac lowered his head.
His anger had nowhere clean to go.
Every person involved had been protecting someone, punishing someone, or avoiding pain.
The result was thirty-two years.
“Why did Helen say I would hate my mother?”
A sharp breath.
“So she told you that.”
“Yes.”
“I said it during the worst argument we ever had.”
“Why?”
“Because Catherine decided not to tell you your father knew he was sick.”
Isaac stared forward.
“She believed if you knew, you’d blame him for not getting more treatment. Or blame her. Or blame yourself.”
“And you disagreed.”
“I thought grief built on a lie would eventually become something worse.”
Helen’s voice softened.
“I was cruel about it.”
“What did you say?”
“That one day her son would realize she had chosen the version of his father he was allowed to remember.”
The words hurt.
Not because they were entirely true.
Because they were partly true.
Isaac had spent eleven years honoring a father who never wanted the sacrifice Isaac had made.
“I need you to come.”
Helen inhaled.
“No.”
“Why?”
“Your mother doesn’t want me.”
“She put your name on a list.”
“What list?”
“Things she wants to do.”
Silence.
“She wrote ‘Call Helen.’”
He heard something that sounded like a sob.
“Helen?”
“I’m here.”
“Come.”
“I don’t know if I can.”
“You’ve had thirty-two years to be afraid.”
“So has she.”
“My mother is sick.”
“I know.”
“How?”
“Ruth contacted me.”
Isaac sat upright.
“Ruth?”
“Three weeks ago.”
Of course.
The house had apparently been conducting a separate government while he worked.
“Did Mom know?”
“No.”
“Then why haven’t you come already?”
“Because I was waiting for Catherine to choose.”
Isaac thought about that.
Megan had said nearly the same thing.
Choice.
Everyone had taken choices away from Catherine while claiming to protect her.
Maybe Helen was the first person who had not.
“I’m not asking you to force anything,” Isaac said. “I’m asking you to give her the chance.”
Helen was silent.
“I’ll come tomorrow.”
“Today.”
“Isaac—”
“Please.”
The word surprised both of them.
Helen finally said, “All right.”
When Isaac returned home, Catherine was in the garden wrapped in two blankets while Lily pushed dirt into a terracotta pot.
Megan knelt beside them.
“Twelve minutes,” Isaac called.
Catherine glared.
“I negotiated fifteen.”
“You negotiated twelve.”
“You remember selectively.”
Megan looked at Isaac’s face.
“You called her.”
Catherine went still.
Isaac nodded.
His mother’s hand tightened around the garden trowel.
“What did she say?”
“She’s coming.”
Catherine stood too quickly.
Ruth reached for her.
“I said no.”
“I know.”
“You had no right.”
“Probably not.”
Megan rose.
“Isaac—”
He held up a hand.
“I’m not pretending this was my decision to make.”
“Then why make it?” Catherine demanded.
“Because Dad’s letter was my decision to read, and you made that one for eleven years.”
The words struck her.
Isaac immediately regretted the cruelty.
But he did not retract them.
Catherine turned away.
“I won’t see her.”
“That’s your choice.”
“You just invited her into my house.”
“Our house.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Do not use property law against your dying mother.”
Lily gasped.
Everyone went silent.
Catherine closed her eyes.
Isaac felt the ground shift under him.
No one had used that word before.
Dying.
Not directly.
Lily’s lower lip trembled.
“Grandma?”
Catherine turned immediately.
“Oh, baby.”
“Are you dying?”
Megan moved toward Lily, but the child ran to Catherine first.
Catherine crouched carefully.
“Not today.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Again, Isaac heard himself in his daughter.
Catherine touched Lily’s face.
“Everybody dies someday.”
“But soon?”
Catherine’s eyes filled.
“We don’t know.”
Lily began crying.
Isaac lifted her into his arms.
She clung to him.
“Make her better.”
His chest cracked open.
He had solved million-dollar problems with less fear than he felt hearing those three words.
“I’m trying.”
“No.” Lily buried her face against him. “Make her better.”
Isaac looked helplessly at Megan.
She approached.
“Lily, remember what Grandma told us?”
The girl shook her head.
“That being scared doesn’t mean we stop doing good things today.”
Lily sniffed.
“Like pancakes?”
“Especially pancakes.”
A tiny smile appeared.
Catherine wiped her eyes.
Isaac stared at Megan.
Again she had done what he could not.
Not fixed the truth.
Made it bearable.
That evening, Catherine refused dinner.
She refused to speak to Isaac.
At nine, he heard a car outside.
His phone rang.
Helen.
“I’m here.”
Isaac looked toward the staircase.
“You said tomorrow.”
“I changed my mind.”
He went downstairs.
A silver-haired woman stood beyond the glass front door holding a small overnight bag.
She looked so much like Catherine that Isaac’s breath caught.
Then a voice sounded behind him.
“Don’t open that door.”
He turned.
Catherine stood halfway down the staircase.
Barefoot.
White with anger.
Helen saw her through the glass.
Neither woman moved.
Thirty-two years stood between them.
Catherine gripped the banister.
Helen lifted one trembling hand.
Then Catherine whispered the sentence Isaac had not expected.
“You have no idea what she took from me.”
And Helen, hearing through the partially opened window, answered:
May you like
“No, Catherine. You have no idea what you took from me.”
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