She was right to ask. Because the next morning, my bank called me.
It was a woman named Gloria from the fraud prevention team at my credit union. Elaine’s letter had arrived the day before, and they’d reviewed my account history for any transactions made under the power of attorney.
“Ms. Keane,” Gloria said carefully, “I want to make sure you’re aware of some activity on your savings account. From last year.”
“What kind of activity?”
“There were three withdrawals made in person at our Richmond branch, under the power of attorney on file. One in March for four thousand dollars. One in June for five thousand. One in November for three thousand two hundred.”
I sat down on my kitchen floor. I didn’t mean to. My legs just went.
“Twelve thousand two hundred dollars,” I said.
“Yes, ma’am. Each withdrawal was signed by Gerald Keane as your agent. The memo on each one said ‘family emergency.’” She paused. “Did you authorize these?”
“No,” I said. “I didn’t know they happened.”
I looked at my statements after I hung up. I’d been getting them by email every month. I never read them closely. Why would I? I knew what was in that account. I put money in. I didn’t take it out. It was my emergency fund, and nothing had ever been an emergency.
There they were. Right in the middle of each statement. Three withdrawals. Richmond branch.
March. Paige had been three months behind on rent in March. I remembered, because Mom had called me about it, and I’d said I couldn’t help that month because I’d just paid for my new water heater. Mom had said, “That’s okay, honey, we’ll figure something out.”
June. Paige’s transmission. I’d told them I’d already given her two thousand for the car in January.
November. Christmas presents. Paige’s credit card.
Each time I said no, my father went to the bank and took it anyway.
Chapter Nine: Richmond
I drove to my parents’ house on Saturday.
I didn’t call first. I didn’t tell anyone except Dalton, who asked me twice if I wanted somebody to come with me. I said no. This one was mine to do.
My parents live in a brick ranch house in the West End of Richmond, with a carport and a bird feeder and a flag on the porch. I grew up in that house. My height marks are still on the inside of the pantry door.
Paige’s car was in the driveway. The suitcases were still in the back seat. She’d been there since Thursday, when the hotel stay ran out.
I parked behind her and sat for a minute. Then I got out and knocked on the door.
My mother opened it. She looked at me like I was a stranger standing on her porch selling something.
“Marissa,” she said.
“Hi, Mom.”
“I’m surprised you’d show your face here.”
“I know,” I said. “Can I come in?”
She stood in the doorway for a long moment. Then she stepped aside.
They were all in the kitchen. Dad at the head of the table with a cup of coffee. Paige at the counter with her arms crossed. Lily and Ben were in the living room watching cartoons. When Lily saw me, she jumped up.
“Aunt Rissa!”
She ran over and wrapped her arms around my waist. I knelt down and hugged her hard.
“Hi, sweet girl.”
“Mom said you were mad at us.”
“I’m not mad at you,” I said. “Never at you. Can you take Ben out back and play on the swing for a little while? I need to talk to the grown-ups.”
She looked at me with her serious eight-year-old eyes. Then she nodded and took Ben by the hand and led him out the back door.
When the door closed, nobody said anything for a long time.
I took a folder out of my bag and set it on the kitchen table. I opened it.
Inside were printouts. Screenshots of Paige’s texts. Still photos from my cameras. A transcript of the phone call. The lease. The revocation of the power of attorney. And three bank slips from the Richmond branch of my credit union, each one signed by my father.
I put the bank slips on top.
“Twelve thousand two hundred dollars,” I said. “From my savings account. Last year. In three withdrawals. Every time I said no.”
My mother looked at the slips. Then she looked at my father.
“Gerald?” she said. “What is this?”
I watched her face. I’d spent nine years watching people’s faces when the evidence came out. I know the difference between someone who’s surprised and someone who’s pretending.
My mother was surprised. Really surprised. She hadn’t known.
My father didn’t move.
“Gerald,” Mom said again. “Where did that money come from? You said it was from the credit card. You said you took a cash advance.”
“It was for Paige,” Dad said quietly. “For the rent. And the car. And Christmas. She needed it.”
“You told me it was our money.”
“It’s family money.”
“It was my money, Dad,” I said.
Paige uncrossed her arms. She came over to the table and picked up one of the bank slips. She read it. Her face changed.
“You told me Marissa sent this,” she said slowly. “In June. For the transmission. You said she changed her mind.”
Dad didn’t answer.
“You told me she felt bad and sent it after all.” Paige’s voice went up. “I wrote her a thank-you card, Dad. I wrote her a card. She never even mentioned it.”
“I never got a card,” I said.
“Because I gave it to him to mail!” Paige turned on our father. “You said you’d put it in with your Christmas cards!”
My father looked at the table.
