Chapter 9 - The Conversation Behind the Closed Door
Patricia Whitmore looked as though every word cost her something.
Rebecca waited without interrupting.
Daniel stood beside his chair.
I sat perfectly still.
“Robert believed I'd ask questions?” I repeated.
Patricia nodded.
“About the property.”
“Then why didn't he simply speak to me?”
She looked down.
“Because you had already refused to sell.”
“I didn't refuse a conversation.”
“You didn't accept the offer.”
“Those are different things.”
“I know.”
Her voice trembled.
I leaned forward.
“Patricia, please explain what you're telling us.”
She drew a slow breath.
“About six months ago, Robert told me the Westbrook project had become more complicated than he expected.”
“How?”
“He'd committed to certain construction schedules.”
“There were investors.”
“Contracts.”
“Deadlines.”
She looked toward the window.
“He told me the access road was the problem.”
I thought about the map.
“My land.”
“Yes.”
Daniel took a step forward.
“What does any of that have to do with Jessica?”
Patricia's face tightened.
“Robert thought the marriage would make everything easier.”
Daniel stared at her.
“What?”
“He thought once you and Jessica were married, Margaret would be more willing to cooperate.”
I felt sick.
“Cooperate how?”
“He believed Daniel could convince you to grant access.”
Daniel shook his head.
“I would never pressure Mom into selling her property.”
Patricia looked at him sadly.
“I think Robert eventually realized that.”
Nobody spoke.
Then I understood something.
“That's why Jessica began telling Daniel I was difficult.”
Patricia closed her eyes.
“Margaret.”
“That's why she kept saying I couldn't let go.”
Patricia didn't answer.
I leaned closer.
“And when I didn't become the person they wanted me to be, they decided I had to disappear from the picture.”
Daniel's face turned red.
“Did Jessica know?”
Patricia looked at him.
“Yes.”
One word.
Quietly spoken.
Devastating.
Daniel returned to his chair.
He sat down heavily.
“How long?”
Patricia wiped her eyes.
“I don't know exactly when Robert first discussed it with her.”
“Did she know before she accepted my proposal?”
“Daniel, I can't answer that honestly.”
He stared at the table.
“Did she love me?”
Patricia began crying.
“I believe she did.”
“That's not what I asked.”
She looked at him.
“Then I don't know how to answer you.”
Rebecca cleared her throat.
“Mrs. Whitmore, are you saying you personally witnessed discussions about obtaining access through Daniel?”
Patricia nodded.
“Yes.”
“Would you be willing to describe specific conversations?”
Patricia hesitated.
“Not today.”
Rebecca nodded.
“I understand.”
Patricia looked at me.
“I came because I couldn't bear the thought of you believing your son wanted you gone.”
My throat tightened.
“Why didn't you say something before the wedding?”
She covered her mouth.
For several seconds, she couldn't speak.
Finally, she whispered, “Because I've spent thirty-two years convincing myself that keeping the peace was the same as doing the right thing.”
I looked at her.
It was an answer I understood more deeply than I wanted to.
Patricia continued.
“Robert makes decisions.”
“He tells us they're necessary.”
“And when we question him, he says we don't understand the business.”
Daniel looked up.
“And you believed him?”
“Sometimes.”
“Even when he involved me?”
Patricia's face crumpled.
“I am ashamed of that.”
There was no defense in her voice.
Only the exhaustion of a woman who had reached the end of her excuses.
I felt compassion.
I also felt anger.
Both emotions could exist without canceling each other.
“Patricia,” I said, “you were kind to me when we first met.”
She nodded.
“You made me feel welcome.”
“I wanted you to feel welcome.”
“Then why did you watch that change?”
She looked at me.
“Because Jessica told me you were becoming controlling.”
I shook my head.
“And Robert said that if you interfered with the development, Daniel and Jessica would lose their chance at a good future.”
I looked toward my son.
His eyes were closed.
Patricia continued.
“Every conversation seemed small at first.”
“One dinner you weren't invited to.”
“One holiday they wanted alone.”
“One phone call Jessica asked Daniel to postpone.”
She swallowed.
“By the time I realized what was happening, I'd helped make it normal.”
I felt tears gather.
Because she had described the past year perfectly.
Not one dramatic betrayal.
A hundred small exclusions.
Each one easy to explain.
Each one slightly harder to forgive.
Daniel opened his eyes.
“Why are you telling us now?”
Patricia reached into her handbag.
She removed a small, cream-colored envelope.
“Because I found something in Robert's study.”
Rebecca straightened.
“What is it?”
Patricia placed the envelope on the table.
“I don't know whether it proves anything.”
“Then don't characterize it,” Rebecca said gently.
“Just tell us where it came from.”
Patricia nodded.
“It was in an unlocked drawer.”
“Was it addressed to you?”
“No.”
“Did Robert give you permission to take it?”
“No.”
Rebecca's expression changed.
“Then we need to handle this carefully.”
Patricia withdrew her hand.
“I understand.”
She pushed the envelope no farther.
“I shouldn't have brought it without asking.”
Rebecca nodded.
“We can discuss an appropriate way to address any information you may know about.”
Daniel stared at the envelope.
“What's inside?”
Patricia looked at him.
“A copy of an email.”
“From whom?”
“Jessica.”
My heart pounded.
“To her father?”
Patricia nodded.
Daniel leaned forward.
“What did it say?”
Patricia's voice became barely audible.
“She wrote that after the wedding, you would be much easier to manage.”
The air seemed to leave the room.
Daniel looked at his hands.
Patricia continued.
“And she wrote that your mother would eventually stop calling if nobody answered.”
I pressed a hand against my chest.
For twenty-seven years, I had answered every call my son made.
From school.
From college.
From his first apartment.
From the roadside when his car broke down.
And somewhere along the way, another woman had decided the simplest solution was to make sure he stopped answering mine.
Daniel pushed away from the table.
He walked to the window.
His reflection stared back at him.
Then he said something I would remember for the rest of my life.
“She didn't just want Mom out of the wedding.”
May you like
He turned.
“She wanted her out of my memory.”
