Chapter 2 - The Empty Chair
I arrived at Aunt Colleen’s house at nine the next morning.
Her little bungalow sat fifteen minutes from my parents’ place, tucked between two newer houses that seemed to tower over it.
Colleen had lived there for thirty-four years.
Nothing inside had changed much.
Same yellow curtains.
Same oak table.
Same porcelain rooster beside the stove.
But that morning every blind was closed.
She opened the door before I knocked.
“You came alone?”
“Yes.”
“Dany?”
“With my friend Naomi.”
She nodded and locked the door behind me.
That was when I knew this was not another family argument.
Aunt Colleen had always been the peacekeeper.
She apologized when other people bumped into her.
Now she checked the front window before leading me to the kitchen.
The wooden box sat on the table.
I recognized it instantly.
“Dad’s.”
“Yes.”
“How did you get it?”
“He gave it to me.”
“When?”
“Thursday.”
Two days before the barbecue.
My stomach tightened.
“Mom said he could barely get out of bed Thursday.”
“He came here.”
“What?”
“Your father drove himself.”
“That’s impossible. Mom said his license was suspended after the stroke.”
“It wasn’t.”
I stared at her.
Colleen pulled out a chair.
“Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down.”
“You should.”
“Where is Dad?”
She looked away.
“At home, as far as I know.”
“As far as you know?”
“I called this morning. Margaret said he was sleeping.”
“That’s what she said yesterday.”
“Yes.”
I grabbed my phone.
Colleen caught my wrist.
“Don’t call her yet.”
“Why?”
“Because Richard was afraid she might be listening.”
I looked at her hand around my wrist.
My gentle aunt was trembling.
I sat.
She poured coffee she had clearly made hours earlier.
Neither of us touched it.
“Tell me everything.”
Colleen looked at the box.
“Your father came here Thursday around noon. He looked tired, but he was clear. Completely clear. He had that box under his arm.”
“What did he say?”
“He asked me whether I trusted you.”
The words hit strangely.
“What?”
“I told him yes.”
“And?”
“He said, ‘Then make sure Lucy gets this when Margaret finally says what I know she’ll say.’”
I stared at her.
“What did he know she would say?”
“He wouldn’t tell me.”
My thoughts went immediately to the barbecue.
Only for my real grandchild.
Colleen’s eyes filled.
“When you called me last night and told me what happened with Dany, I understood.”
“You already knew?”
“No. But Richard did.”
I looked at the box.
“Why didn’t you give it to me yesterday?”
“Because he made me promise to wait twenty-four hours.”
“Why?”
“He said if I gave it to you immediately, you would confront Margaret emotionally. If you waited, you might think.”
That sounded exactly like Dad.
Even weakened by a stroke, he was still trying to manage a crisis like a chessboard.
“Open it,” Colleen said.
I reached for the latch.
It was locked.
She handed me a silver key.
Before I could use it, someone pounded on the front door.
Colleen froze.
Another knock.
Harder.
“Colleen!”
Mom.
My blood went cold.
“How does she know I’m here?”
Colleen shook her head.
“Don’t open it.”
“COLLEEN!”
The doorknob rattled.
Then Chelsea’s voice.
“We know Lucy’s in there.”
I stood.
Colleen whispered, “Your mother cannot see that box.”
I picked it up.
It was heavier than I expected.
“Where?”
“Bedroom closet.”
I carried it down the hall while Mom continued pounding.
I slid the box beneath a pile of blankets on the top shelf.
When I returned, Colleen opened the door.
Margaret pushed past her.
Chelsea followed.
Mom’s hair was perfectly styled.
Her lips were tight.
She looked at me.
“You couldn’t answer eleven calls, but you can come gossip with her?”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Sleeping.”
“I want to see him.”
“You upset him yesterday.”
“I didn’t even see him.”
“You caused a scene.”
“Mom.”
Chelsea stepped between us.
“Can everyone calm down?”
I ignored her.
“Where is Dad?”
Margaret crossed her arms.
“At home.”
“Then why were his medications wrong?”
Her expression shifted.
Barely.
“They weren’t wrong. I couldn’t find the Tuesday compartment.”
“It was Saturday.”
Silence.
Chelsea looked at her.
Mom recovered quickly.
“I’m exhausted. I misspoke.”
Colleen said quietly, “When did you last speak to Richard?”
Mom turned.
“What?”
“You heard me.”
Something passed between the sisters.
Fear.
Old history.
Margaret smiled without warmth.
“Yesterday morning.”
“What did he say?”
“That he was tired.”
Colleen’s face drained.
Mom noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
Margaret looked from her to me.
Then past us toward the hallway.
“Where is it?”
My heartbeat jumped.
“Where is what?”
She smiled.
“Richard came here Thursday.”
Chelsea stared at her.
“You said Dad was in bed Thursday.”
Mom didn’t look at her.
“I know he brought something.”
Colleen stepped forward.
“You should leave.”
“Give it to me.”
“No.”
“It belongs to my husband.”
“No, Margaret. It doesn’t.”
The air changed.
Mom’s voice became quiet.
“Colleen, you have spent your entire life confusing being useful with being important. Don’t make that mistake now.”
My aunt flinched.
I had heard Mom cut people down all my life.
But I had never heard her speak to Colleen like that.
Colleen lifted her chin.
“Richard was right.”
Mom froze.
“About what?”
“You.”
For several seconds nobody moved.
Then Mom turned to me.
“Lucy, your father is very sick. He’s paranoid. He has memory problems. Whatever he told Colleen, whatever he wrote, you cannot trust it.”
The certainty in her voice frightened me.
Because I had not told her there was writing.
I had not told her there was anything inside the box.
I asked, “How do you know he wrote something?”
Chelsea slowly turned toward our mother.
Margaret’s mouth opened.
Nothing came out.
Then her phone rang.
She glanced at the screen.
Her face changed.
She answered.
“Yes?”
A pause.
“What do you mean he’s gone?”
Every person in the room stopped breathing.
Mom gripped the phone.
“Check the garage.”
Another pause.
Her hand began to shake.
“Call me back.”
She hung up.
I stood.
“Who is gone?”
She looked at me.
May you like
And for the first time that morning, I knew she wasn’t pretending.
“Your father.”
