She didn’t look angry.
She looked sad.
“Amanda, I chose what to do with my money.”
That silenced me.
“I wasn’t tricked,” she continued. “Melissa didn’t steal from me. I helped my daughter because I wanted to.”
Melissa looked up.
Mom continued.
“I was proud when they bought their first house. I was proud when the clinics became successful. I loved watching my grandchildren while Melissa worked. Don’t turn things I was happy to give into something ugly simply because you’re angry.”
I sat down.
She was right.
I wanted Mom to be angry because I was angry.
But those were two different things.
Still, there was one question I couldn’t let go.
I looked toward the scrapbook lying on the dresser.
“Then why did you hide Melissa’s birthday card under your plate yesterday?”
Mom froze.
Melissa turned toward her.
“Mom?”
Mom started putting documents back into the folder.
“It was nothing.”
“No,” I said gently. “That’s what you always say.”
She gave me a warning look.
I lowered my voice.
“Did what Melissa said hurt you?”
Mom didn’t answer.
Melissa stood.
“Mom, I was joking.”
“I know.”
“I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“I know that too.”
Mom closed the drawer.
Then she looked directly at Melissa.
“It wasn’t about the twenty dollars.”
Melissa visibly relaxed.
