Chapter 7
Dad went straight to his office.
The desk drawer was closed.
He unlocked it.
My application folder sat inside.
At first, nothing seemed wrong.
Then Dad opened it.
Several pages were missing.
My stomach dropped.
“The income worksheet.”
Dad flipped through the file.
“And the household statement.”
Vanessa stood behind us.
“How did she get into the drawer?”
Dad checked the lock.
No damage.
“She had a key,” I said.
He looked at me.
“There are only two.”
“One is yours.”
“And the spare is in my bedroom closet.”
We walked upstairs.
The spare key was gone.
Dad stood in front of the empty hook.
His expression was almost more hurt than angry.
Grandma hadn't acted impulsively.
She had planned.
Vanessa leaned against the wall.
“How long had she been thinking about this?”
Nobody answered.
Dad called Aunt Denise.
Grandma was already staying there.
When he explained the missing papers, Denise stopped defending her.
“I'll ask her.”
“No,” Dad said.
“I'll ask her myself.”
He drove there alone.
I wanted to go.
He refused.
“This conversation is between me and my mother.”
Vanessa and I stayed home.
For an hour, neither of us said much.
Finally, Vanessa sat beside me on the sofa.
“I've been thinking.”
“That sounds dangerous.”
She laughed.
A real laugh.
Then her face became serious.
“Do you remember when I applied to nursing school?”
I nodded.
“You didn't get in.”
She stared at her hands.
“I did.”
I turned toward her.
“What?”
“I got accepted.”
I couldn't believe it.
“You told everyone they rejected you.”
“I lied.”
“Why?”
Her eyes filled.
“Because I got scared.”
“Of nursing school?”
“Of failing.”
Vanessa took a deep breath.
“I barely passed my science classes.”
She wiped her cheek.
“When the acceptance came, everybody got excited.”
“Except you.”
“I kept imagining myself failing the first semester.”
She looked ashamed.
“So I declined the offer.”
I stared at her.
“Then I told everybody they rejected me.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because rejection felt less embarrassing than admitting I was scared.”
Suddenly so much made sense.
Her anger whenever people mentioned college.
Her resentment when I succeeded.
“You weren't jealous because I got something you couldn't get.”
She shook her head.
“You got something I was too afraid to try for.”
I felt sad for her.
Not enough to erase what she'd done.
But enough to understand it.
“Do you still want to be a nurse?”
Vanessa shrugged.
“I don't know.”
“That's not an answer.”
She smiled sadly.
“Maybe.”
“Then apply again.”
She laughed.
“After everything I've done?”
“What does that have to do with school?”
“I don't deserve—”
“Stop.”
She looked at me.
“You don't get to use guilt the same way you used jealousy.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
I surprised myself.
“Fix what you did.”
I continued.
“But don't ruin your future to prove you're sorry.”
Vanessa stared at me for a long moment.
Then she nodded.
“Okay.”
Dad returned around eight.
He looked drained.
“What happened?” I asked.
He sat down.
“She admitted taking the key.”
My chest tightened.
“And the papers?”
“She photographed them.”
Vanessa whispered a curse.
Dad nodded.
“She said she panicked when she realized you were actually leaving.”
I stared at him.
“Leaving?”
“For college.”
“That was the reason?”
“Part of it.”
Dad leaned back.
“She admitted something else.”
“What?”
“She has been terrified of this house becoming empty.”
I looked around the living room.
Grandma had lived with us since Grandpa died.
Seven years.
Dad continued.
“When Vanessa started working full time, Mom felt abandoned.”
Vanessa frowned.
“I still lived here.”
“She didn't mean physically.”
Dad looked at me.
“And when you got the scholarship, she saw another person moving forward without her.”
“That doesn't excuse anything.”
“No.”
Dad's answer came immediately.
“It explains it. Nothing more.”
That distinction mattered.
“Is she coming back?”
“No.”
Relief came before guilt.
I hated that.
Dad noticed.
“You're allowed to feel relieved.”
I nodded.
“She'll stay with Denise until she decides what she wants to do.”
“What about us?”
Dad looked toward Grandma's empty chair.
“We decide what we accept.”
A week passed.
Then two.
My scholarship remained secure.
Grandma called several times.
At first, I didn't answer.
Then one Sunday afternoon, I did.
“Maya.”
She sounded small.
“Hi, Grandma.”
“I've missed you.”
I almost said I missed her too.
But I stopped.
“I miss parts of how things were.”
Silence.
“That hurts.”
“I know.”
She breathed slowly.
“I suppose I earned that.”
I closed my eyes.
That was new.
Grandma rarely admitted fault without adding a reason.
“I started seeing a counselor.”
I opened my eyes.
“What?”
“Denise insisted.”
I almost laughed.
Of course Aunt Denise had.
Grandma continued.
“She says I confuse being needed with being loved.”
I didn't know what to say.
“She might be right.”
Grandma's voice trembled.
“I spent so many years taking care of everybody that I didn't know who I was when nobody needed taking care of.”
My anger softened.
But it didn't disappear.
“You still hurt me.”
“I know.”
“You could have cost me everything.”
“I know.”
“And Vanessa.”
“Yes.”
She began crying quietly.
“I was cruel to both of you.”
I swallowed.
“I love you.”
“I love you too.”
“But I'm not ready for you to come home.”
Grandma was silent for several seconds.
Then:
“I understand.”
And for the first time, I believed she actually did.
Three days later, another envelope arrived.
This one had Vanessa's name on it.
She stared at it for ten minutes before opening it.
Then she screamed.
Dad and I ran downstairs.
Vanessa stood there crying.
“What happened?” Dad asked.
She held out the paper.
“I got in.”
I stared.
“Nursing school?”
She nodded violently.
“I applied again.”
I threw my arms around her.
For the first time in years, when something good happened to one of us, the other wasn't jealous.
We were simply sisters.
Then Dad's phone rang.
He answered.
His smile disappeared.
May you like
It was Aunt Denise.
Grandma had collapsed.
