Chapter 5
I stared at the bank statement.
There were numbers everywhere.
Dates.
Transfers.
Account references.
But one number stood out.
One hundred and eighty thousand dollars.
I looked at Camille.
"Was that mine?"
She nodded.
"The account was established for your education and future needs."
My throat tightened.
I was sixteen.
I had started thinking about college.
Dad and I had been discussing scholarships.
Part-time jobs.
Saving money.
Now I was staring at proof that someone had already left money for my future.
And most of it was gone.
I looked toward Dad.
"Did you know?"
He shook his head.
"No."
Vanessa stared at him.
"Marcus, Evelyn handled those accounts?"
He nodded slowly.
"She managed some financial paperwork when Maya was little."
Camille looked at the statement.
"The records indicate that Evelyn had authority over certain account transactions."
I felt sick.
"Does that mean Grandma stole it?"
Camille answered carefully.
"We don't know that yet. We need to establish what withdrawals were authorized and how the money was used."
I nodded.
I was learning that truth sometimes arrived in pieces.
And that those pieces didn't always fit together immediately.
Still, my stomach hurt.
Grandma had bought me birthday presents.
Taken me shopping.
Paid for summer camps.
She always told me how expensive raising children was.
Sometimes she reminded me that Dad worked too hard because I needed so much.
What if she'd been spending money intended for me while making me feel guilty for costing everyone money?
I looked down.
Vanessa noticed.
"Maya?"
I shook my head.
"I'm okay."
But I wasn't.
I didn't know how to be okay.
Dad reached for my hand.
I let him hold it.
For a moment, that felt good.
Then I remembered the recording.
The custody papers.
The lies.
I gently pulled away.
Dad looked hurt.
I felt guilty immediately.
Then I remembered something.
I was allowed to be hurt too.
I didn't have to comfort everyone else.
Camille explained that the trust records would need independent review.
She also suggested that Dad and Vanessa obtain separate legal advice because their interests and responsibilities might differ.
Dad agreed.
Vanessa nodded.
Nobody argued.
That surprised me.
For years, I'd imagined my parents couldn't be in the same room without fighting.
Now they were sitting across from each other, listening.
I wondered how different my childhood might have been if they'd done that eleven years earlier.
After the meeting, Vanessa asked whether I wanted to get lunch.
Dad looked toward me.
"Your choice."
I hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Okay."
We went to a little diner near the courthouse.
Vanessa sat across from me.
She looked nervous.
I was nervous too.
For several minutes, we studied the menus.
Then she smiled.
"You still like strawberry milkshakes?"
I looked up.
"How do you know that?"
Her eyes filled.
"You loved them when you were little."
I stared at her.
I had no memory of that.
But I did love strawberry milkshakes.
She laughed softly.
"Your dad used to complain because you'd never finish one."
I smiled faintly.
"Still don't."
We both laughed.
It was awkward.
But nice.
Then I asked a question.
"What was I like when I was five?"
Vanessa's expression softened.
"Curious."
I smiled.
"Really?"
"Very."
She laughed.
"You asked why the moon followed our car."
I giggled.
"I still want to know."
She smiled.
"You loved dancing in the kitchen. You hated peas. And you insisted every stuffed animal needed a bedtime story."
My throat tightened.
I looked down.
For eleven years, I'd wondered whether my mother remembered me.
Now she was describing things I'd forgotten.
I swallowed.
"Did you miss me?"
Her eyes filled.
"Every day."
I began crying.
She reached toward my hand.
Then stopped.
"May I?"
I nodded.
She gently held my fingers.
Her hand was warm.
It felt strange.
And familiar.
And heartbreaking.
All at once.
I looked at her.
"Why didn't you come to my school?"
She swallowed.
"I tried."
I stared.
She continued.
"Your grandmother told the school I wasn't authorized to contact you."
My stomach tightened.
"Did you ever see me?"
Vanessa hesitated.
Then nodded.
"Sometimes."
I looked up sharply.
"When?"
She wiped her cheeks.
"Once, at a basketball tournament when you were twelve."
I froze.
I remembered that tournament.
I had scored the winning basket.
Dad was cheering.
Grandma was taking photographs.
I had noticed a woman standing near the gym doors.
She was crying.
I thought she was another player's mother.
My chest tightened.
"That was you?"
Vanessa nodded.
"I couldn't approach you."
I covered my mouth.
I had been so close.
Only a few feet away.
And I hadn't known.
I began sobbing.
Vanessa moved beside me.
She didn't hug me immediately.
She waited.
Then I leaned into her arms.
She held me gently.
"I'm sorry, baby."
I cried harder.
"I'm so sorry."
For the first time in eleven years, I felt my mother's arms around me.
I wanted to stay there forever.
But I also felt angry.
Angry that she'd missed so much.
Angry that Dad had allowed it.
Angry that Grandma had hidden the truth.
And angry that childhood couldn't be returned like something borrowed.
When Vanessa finally released me, she wiped her eyes.
"I don't expect you to trust me immediately."
I nodded.
She smiled sadly.
"We can start slowly."
I took a breath.
"Okay."
Then I asked something I'd been wondering since she appeared at our door.
"Do you have another family?"
Vanessa's expression changed.
"I have a husband."
My stomach tightened.
"And children?"
She hesitated.
Then nodded.
"One."
I stared.
A brother?
A sister?
Someone who'd grown up knowing the mother I thought had abandoned me?
My heart began pounding.
"How old?"
Vanessa swallowed.
"Seven."
I looked at her.
"Boy or girl?"
Her eyes filled.
"A boy."
May you like
I stared.
Then whispered, "I have a little brother?"
