Chapter 8 - The Pages Margaret Added
I didn't invite Margaret to sit.
She sat anyway.
The scrapbook rested between us.
“Where did you get this?”
“Sophie left it at the restaurant.”
I stared at her.
For six months, she had kept it.
“I should have returned it.”
“Yes.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I read it.”
That angered me more than I expected.
“It wasn't yours to read.”
“I know.”
She opened the first page.
A photograph showed Margaret holding baby Sophie years earlier.
Underneath, Sophie had written:
Grandma Margaret always smells like roses.
Margaret's fingers trembled.
Another page.
A photograph from Christmas.
Another from Cape Cod.
Another from Caleb's seventh birthday.
“I didn't know she remembered these things.”
“You never asked.”
Margaret looked up.
For once, there was no sharp reply.
Then she turned toward the new pages.
They were written in Margaret's handwriting.
Not excuses.
Memories.
The first time Sophie stayed overnight, she was afraid of thunderstorms.
Caleb once spent twenty minutes trying to teach me a card game I already knew because he was so proud he had learned it.
I closed the book.
“What do you want?”
Margaret swallowed.
“I don't know.”
That was perhaps the first truthful sentence I had ever heard from her.
She stared at the window.
“My husband left me with debt.”
I waited.
“I spent years pretending he hadn't.”
“That doesn't justify what you did.”
“I know.”
“You called my children complications.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
“You called them another man's children.”
“I know.”
“You let Caleb believe he was a burden.”
A tear slid down her cheek.
“I know.”
I didn't comfort her.
Remorse is uncomfortable.
Sometimes it should be.
She eventually stood.
“Would Sophie want the scrapbook back?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell her I'm sorry?”
“No.”
Margaret looked startled.
“If you want to apologize, you'll do it yourself.”
“What if she doesn't want to see me?”
“Then you'll respect that.”
Margaret nodded.
She walked toward the door.
Then stopped.
“Caroline?”
“Yes?”
“I was jealous of Daniel.”
I stared at her.
“He was dead, and somehow he still had a place in your family my son never had.”
“That wasn't Daniel's fault.”
“No.”
She looked exhausted.
“It was mine.”
Then she left.
I thought about that conversation for days.
Not because I forgave her.
Because for the first time, Margaret had stopped rewriting reality.
Two weeks later, Sophie agreed to receive a letter from her.
Not a visit.
A letter.
Margaret wrote four pages.
Sophie read them privately.
Then placed them in a drawer.
“Do you forgive her?” I asked.
“I don't know.”
“That is okay.”
She looked at me.
“Do I have to?”
“No.”
That answer seemed to relieve her.
But while Margaret was trying to repair damage, Nathan faced another consequence.
Rebecca discovered one final transaction.
$46,000 had been transferred from Cole Strategic Consulting three years earlier.
The recipient wasn't Margaret.
It wasn't Vanessa.
It was an education account.
And the beneficiary's name made absolutely no sense.
Caleb Monroe.
I stared at Rebecca.
“Nathan put money away for Caleb?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She slid another document toward me.
There was also an account for Sophie.
$46,000.
Same date.
Same amount.
Suddenly the story became more complicated.
Nathan had taken money improperly.
But some of it had apparently been intended for my children.
Why hide that?
I called him.
He answered immediately.
“Caroline?”
“I found the education accounts.”
Silence.
“Why?”
Nathan sighed.
“Because Mom told me I would eventually resent paying for Daniel's children.”
I tightened my grip on the phone.
“And?”
“And I wanted to prove to myself that I wouldn't.”
“Why hide it?”
“Because the money came from my company distributions before they were properly recorded.”
I closed my eyes.
Even his attempt at generosity had been financially reckless.
Nathan continued.
“I wanted them to know someday that I chose them too.”
My voice became quiet.
“You should have chosen them at the restaurant.”
“I know.”
There was nothing else to say.
Except Nathan had one more thing to tell me.
“Caroline, Mom is selling her jewelry.”
“Why?”
“To repay the company.”
I laughed softly.
“That won't cover it.”
“I know.”
“She doesn't have to perform some dramatic gesture.”
“She isn't.”
A pause.
“She sold the diamond necklace Dad gave her.”
I remembered that necklace.
Margaret treasured it more than almost anything.
Nathan said, “She told me she doesn't want to keep wearing things bought with money she pretended she had.”
That didn't erase what happened.
Nothing could.
But it was the first sign that consequences were doing what arguments never had.
They were changing people.
Then Nathan said something I wasn't prepared for.
“There's someone else who wants to meet you.”
My stomach tightened.
“Who?”
“My father.”
I nearly dropped the phone.
“Nathan, your father is dead.”
“No.”
His voice was barely above a whisper.
May you like
“That's another thing Mom lied about.”
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