Chapter 4 - Forty-One Dollars
Nola was sitting upright when I returned to the hospital.
She had eaten half a bowl of soup.
A nurse had braided her hair loosely to keep it off her face.
She looked tired, but when she saw me, she smiled.
That smile almost broke me.
Not because it was brave.
Because it was familiar.
It was the same uneven smile she'd had since she lost her first front tooth.
I pulled the chair close.
"How are you feeling?"
"Like I slept inside a freezer."
"Your sense of humor survived."
"Unfortunately."
I smiled.
She looked at my face a little longer.
"Did you talk to Ms. Ortiz?"
"Yes."
Her expression changed.
"Did she show you?"
"The two school reports."
Nola looked down.
"So now you know."
"That you didn't steal the fundraiser money?"
She nodded.
"I wish I'd known fourteen months ago."
"Dad said he told you."
"He didn't."
Nola pressed her lips together.
"That's what I thought."
I let that sit between us.
Then I said, "The police told me your father thinks you took forty-one dollars from Doreen."
Nola's head snapped up.
"What?"
"Forty-one dollars."
"That's mine."
"I believe you."
She pulled the blanket tightly around her waist.
"He knows that's mine."
"Tell me."
She looked toward the window.
"I've been saving it."
"For what?"
"In case I needed a ride."
"A ride where?"
"To you."
The words seemed to take all the air out of the room.
She spoke faster.
"I know forty-one dollars isn't enough for much. But I looked up the bus route from the shopping center near Dad's house. There's a transfer downtown, and I thought maybe I could get close enough to where you live and call from a store."
"Nola."
"I wasn't actually going to disappear. I just wanted a way out if something happened."
I took her hand.
"When did you start saving?"
"Last May."
"How?"
"Birthday money. A couple dollars from helping Mrs. Kendall bring in groceries. Stuff like that."
Mrs. Kendall lived two houses away from Grant.
I remembered her.
An older woman who grew tomato plants in plastic tubs.
"Did your father know?"
"Not until yesterday."
"How did he find out?"
Nola looked down at her hands.
"Grandma searched my bag."
The notebook lay in a clear evidence-storage sleeve on the side table.
I had photographed it as the officer instructed, then stopped handling it.
Nola glanced toward it.
"Did you read everything?"
"Only Part One."
She seemed relieved.
"There's a lot."
"I know."
She pulled a loose thread from the hospital blanket.
"Some of it sounds stupid."
"Nothing you've told me sounds stupid."
"Some things are small."
"Small things can still matter."
She looked at me.
"Can I tell you about the money first?"
"Of course."
She took a breath.
Then she began.
Doreen had always been particular about possessions.
She counted silverware after holidays.
She kept receipts in labeled envelopes.
She complained when people moved the cushions on her sofa.
Nola had learned not to touch anything in Doreen's room.
But the previous Saturday, Grant had told her to bring clean towels upstairs.
Doreen was staying at the house for several weeks while renovations were being completed at her own home.
Nola went into the guest bedroom.
She placed the towels on a chair.
Then she saw a folder lying open on the bed.
Her name was written on the tab.
NOLA - EXPENSES.
She knew she was not supposed to look.
But she saw my name on the first page.
SLOANE MERRICK.
There was a spreadsheet.
A familiar kind of spreadsheet.
Dates down one column.
Dollar amounts down another.
Notes beside each entry.
"At first I thought it was normal stuff," Nola said.
"Like school expenses and clothes."
"What kind of expenses?"
She hesitated.
"Some were real."
"Which ones?"
"My braces. Band fees. A pair of shoes."
"And the others?"
She looked toward the door.
"Things I never had."
I waited.
"Therapy appointments."
I frowned.
"Therapy?"
"Like, a lot of them."
"How many?"
"I don't know. Twenty or thirty, maybe."
"Have you been seeing a therapist?"
"No."
I held very still.
"What else?"
"A summer camp I didn't go to. Special tutoring. Medical bills."
I tried to remember any requests for reimbursement.
Grant had sent them occasionally.
Some came through our co-parenting application.
Others arrived attached to emails.
I paid what the court order required.
I had objected to several unclear expenses but eventually paid some after Grant threatened to involve attorneys.
I had never imagined that the underlying services might not exist.
Nola continued.
"Grandma had highlighted things. And there was a note in the margin."
"What did it say?"
She swallowed.
"It said, 'Keep receipts aligned with support claim.'"
I looked at her.
"Are you sure?"
"Yes."
"Did you photograph it?"
She nodded.
"Three pictures."
"On the phone your father took?"
"Yes."
"What happened next?"
"I heard Grandma coming."
She had slipped the phone into her pocket.
Doreen entered carrying a glass of water.
She asked what Nola was doing.
Nola said she had brought towels.
Doreen noticed the folder was open.
She asked whether Nola had touched it.
Nola said no.
Doreen searched her pockets.
Found the phone.
Saw the photograph preview.
Then she called Grant.
Nola stopped talking.
I waited.
She stared at her hands.
"Dad didn't yell."
I felt my chest tighten.
"He just asked why I was spying."
"What did you say?"
"That I wanted to know why there were bills for things I never did."
"And?"
"He said grown-up money was none of my business."
She wiped her nose.
"Grandma said I had always been a little thief."
I remembered the fundraiser incident.
"They brought that up again?"
"All the time."
My daughter looked at me.
"Mom, the school cleared me. I know because Ms. Ortiz showed me the paper. But Grandma still says I stole it."
I nodded.
"Tell me what happened yesterday."
Nola took several breaths.
"At first Dad said I could get my phone back if I admitted I was wrong."
"Did you?"
"No."
"Then?"
"He wanted me to tell him whether I'd sent the pictures to anybody."
"Had you?"
She shook her head.
"Not yet."
She began picking at the blanket again.
"I wanted to show you when you picked me up. I thought if you saw the actual papers, maybe he'd stop saying I made things up."
I felt sick.
"Then what?"
"Grandma searched my backpack."
"Did she find the notebook?"
"No. It was inside the lining."
I stared at her.
"The lining?"
Nola nodded.
"There's a tear near the bottom. I put it behind the fabric."
The backpack had been wet and heavy when I picked it up.
I had removed everything from the main compartment.
I had not examined the lining.
There might be more inside it.
"She found the money, though," Nola said.
"Forty-one dollars?"
"Yes."
"Doreen said it was hers?"
Nola nodded.
"She had cash in an envelope in her dresser. She said mine must have come from there."
"What did Grant do?"
"He asked me to apologize."
"Did you?"
"No."
Nola's breathing grew shallow.
"Then he told me to go outside until I was ready to be honest."
I knew this part.
I had heard it from Grant himself.
"At five?"
She nodded.
"Did he tell you how long?"
"He said until I admitted it."
"Why didn't you go back inside?"
Her eyes filled.
"I tried."
I felt my hand tighten around hers.
"What happened?"
"Grandma locked the storm door."
I sat motionless.
"She locked it?"
Nola nodded.
"At first I stayed on the porch. Then Dad came out and said I wasn't allowed to sit by the door because I was making the neighbors look at the house."
"Where did he tell you to go?"
"Beside the steps."
My mind returned to the driveway.
Nola's body on the concrete.
Four feet from the front door.
The porch roof extended only over the steps.
The place where she was lying had been directly beneath the rain.
"Why didn't you leave the yard?" I asked.
"I thought about it."
"Why didn't you?"
"Dad said if I walked off the property, he'd report me as a runaway."
She swallowed.
"And he said if I caused another problem, you might lose your job."
I stared at her.
"What?"
"He said the Army doesn't like parents whose kids get arrested."
I understood then why my daughter had been so careful with her words.
Why she had apologized while lying in a hospital bed.
Why she had kept records instead of asking for help.
Grant had not needed to convince Nola that nobody loved her.
He had convinced her that speaking up could hurt the people she loved.
I stood and walked to the window.
Outside, the sky was darkening again.
I wanted to call Grant.
I wanted to tell him what I knew.
I wanted him to experience even a fraction of the fear he'd caused.
Instead, I took out my phone and wrote down Nola's account in her own words, with her permission.
Time.
Location.
Sequence.
Exact phrases.
I had learned years earlier that memory changes under stress.
And I was not going to let my anger become the reason somebody doubted her.
When I sat down again, Nola was watching me.
"Are you mad?"
"Yes."
She looked frightened.
"At me?"
I leaned forward.
"No, sweetheart."
"Then why aren't you saying anything?"
I took a breath.
"Because I want to say things that wouldn't help you."
She thought about that.
Then, for the first time since I found her outside, she reached for me without asking.
I held her gently.
A minute later, she whispered into my shoulder.
"There's something in the backpack you didn't find."
I pulled back.
"What?"
She wiped her eyes.
"Inside the bottom lining."
"The notebook was there?"
"No."
Her voice dropped.
"The notebook was under the clothes. The other thing is in the lining."
"What other thing?"
She looked toward the door.
"A flash drive."
I stared at her.
"What's on it?"
She shook her head.
"I couldn't open all the files."
"Where did you get it?"
"Grandma's room."
Before I could respond, she said something that changed the direction of the entire case.
"Mom, I don't think those papers are just about you paying money."
May you like
She held my gaze.
"I think Grandma has been using my name to get money from somebody else, too."
