“She’s wanted you for four years.”
“But why?”
That was the question. And I realized, with a terrible, sinking certainty, that I’d never really asked it.
Part Eight: Daniel’s Papers
That night, after Walter was asleep, I went into the back closet and pulled out the boxes I’d been avoiding since the funeral.
Daniel’s papers.
Insurance forms. Old tax returns. Medical bills I couldn’t look at for long.
And then, near the bottom, a thick envelope from a law firm with a name I didn’t recognize.
I read the first page three times.
Then I read it a fourth time, because I couldn’t believe my son
had done this and never said a word.
“Granny?”
I jumped. Walter was standing in the doorway in his pajamas, rubbing his eyes.
I turned the papers face down on my lap. “What are you doing up?”
“I had a dream. Are you okay?”
“I think I just figured something out.”
“About Aunt Lisa?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“Something I should’ve seen a long time ago.”
“What is it?”
“I’ll explain when you’re older.”
He narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s exactly what Aunt Lisa says when she doesn’t want to answer.”
I winced. “Please don’t compare me to your aunt today.”
After I’d tucked him back in and left the night-light on, I sat alone at the kitchen table with that envelope, and four years of Lisa’s behavior finally rearranged themselves into a shape that made sense.
The sudden interest in a nephew she’d barely called. The fight over guardianship three
days after the funeral. The questions about my eyesight. The glasses. The papers she’d already started while I was unconscious.
I’d been asking the wrong question all along.
I’d been asking why Lisa wanted Walter.
I should have been asking what came with him.
Part Nine: The Invitation
In the morning, I called her.
“Could you come by tonight?”
She sounded surprised. “Is everything okay? Are you feeling alright?”
“I need help with some paperwork.”
