My father lowered himself onto the rocking chair.
The letter continued.
I have left you money because I have watched you work for every opportunity while others assumed you would remain available to rescue them. Please do not use this gift to preserve a life that does not honor you.
I pressed my palm to my mouth.
The next paragraph was dated two weeks before her death.
Your parents know the terms of my will. They also know that the money is to remain in an account in your name until you are thirty, unless you authorize a withdrawal in writing. If anyone tells you otherwise, ask to see the documents.
I looked at my father.
He stared at the floor.
“Did you know this?”
“She showed me the will.”
“Then you knew they weren’t supposed to use it.”
“I knew.”
The attic seemed suddenly too small.
“Why did the bank allow it?”
“Your mother was listed as a custodian.”
“She was my custodian?”
“You were nineteen.”
“And you signed?”
“I signed one withdrawal.”
“One?”
“The rest were done by your mother.”
I turned back to the folder.
Beneath the letter was a bank statement. Then another. The balance had begun at thirty-eight thousand, four hundred dollars.
The first withdrawal was for eight thousand.
The description read: BUSINESS TAXES.
The second was for twelve thousand.
HOUSE REFINANCE.
The third was marked EDUCATION EXPENSE.
That one made me laugh, though my eyes were wet.
“What was the education expense?”
“Your mother bought the computer.”
“The computer she gave me for one Christmas?”
My father’s silence answered.
There were more pages. Withdrawals made in small amounts, some for groceries, some for repairs, one for a vacation rental at the lake.
The final balance was eleven thousand, eight hundred and six dollars.
“That’s what was left.”
He nodded.
“Where is it now?”
His face tightened.
“Your mother transferred it last year.”
“To where?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“She said she was protecting it.”
“From whom?”
“From you.”
I stared at him.
“Why would she need to protect my money from me?”
“She said you would use it to disappear permanently.”
“I was already overseas.”
“She believed you were punishing us.”
I closed the folder.
“What happened to the account?”
“I think she moved it into a certificate of deposit.”
“Under whose name?”
He looked away.
“Dad.”
“I don’t know.”
The answer was not convincing.
“You know.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Her name was on the account.”
“So she took it.”
“She said she was holding it until you came home.”
“I came home.”
“She was afraid you would demand everything.”
“I have every right to demand everything.”
“Yes.”
The attic door creaked below us.
My mother stood at the bottom of the stairs.
Her face was pale.
“How did you get up here?” she asked.
“The key was in Dad’s drawer.”
She looked at him.
“You promised me.”
“I promised to keep her from being deceived.”
“You promised you wouldn’t show her.”
“I didn’t show her. She found it.”
My mother climbed the stairs, holding the railing.
