Chapter 7 - The Pills That Were Never His
For five seconds nobody spoke.
Margaret looked at the evidence pouch in my hand.
Then at Aunt Colleen.
Then at the open cabinet.
Her expression became perfectly calm.
That was when I became most afraid of her.
“Put that down,” she said.
I did not.
“What are these?”
“Your father’s medication.”
“No.”
I held up the evidence pouch.
“These pills don’t match.”
“He had prescriptions changed constantly.”
“Then why did Dad hide them?”
“He was paranoid.”
“With a keypad?”
“He became obsessive after the stroke.”
Colleen stepped beside me.
“Margaret, lower the bat.”
Mom looked at it as if she had forgotten she was holding it.
Then she placed it against the wall.
Not because we asked.
Because she understood how it looked.
“Lucy,” she said, softer now. “You’re tired. You’re angry about the barbecue. I understand.”
“You understand?”
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
“Why did you?”
She looked away.
“Because you provoke me.”
There it was.
Her oldest trick.
My reaction always became the cause.
“What do these pills do?”
“I don’t know.”
“Who filled his prescriptions?”
“Different pharmacies.”
“Who organized them?”
“I did.”
Aunt Colleen inhaled.
Mom turned toward her.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” Colleen asked.
“Pretend you understand his medical care.”
“I understand he became weaker whenever you took over.”
Margaret’s face sharpened.
“He had a stroke.”
“He recovered well for the first two months.”
“Recovery fluctuates.”
“And then you stopped letting Lucy visit alone.”
“Because she upset him.”
“I made him laugh,” I said.
Mom looked at me.
“That’s not the same as helping.”
I took out my phone.
“I’m calling the police.”
She laughed.
“For medication?”
“For possible tampering.”
Her face did not move.
But her hand tightened against the desk.
“Do that,” she said.
The confidence surprised me.
Then I understood.
“If I call,” I said slowly, “you’ll say Dad changed prescriptions.”
“That would be true.”
“And if I ask his doctor?”
“He’ll confirm medications were adjusted.”
“So you already have an explanation.”
“Because there is nothing to explain.”
I looked at the evidence pouch.
Dad had anticipated this too.
He had not merely hidden pills.
He had preserved them.
Evidence.
“Where did Dad send these?”
“What?”
“The matching set.”
No answer.
“He wouldn’t keep the only sample here.”
Mom’s eyes flickered.
Barely.
But I saw it.
“You know.”
She stepped closer.
“You have spent your whole life searching for reasons to resent me.”
“No.”
“You think Chelsea got more. You think I loved her more. You think Richard protected you from me.”
“Didn’t he?”
She laughed sadly.
“You don’t know what that man protected you from.”
The room went quiet.
“What does that mean?”
She turned away.
“Go home.”
“No.”
“Take Colleen. Take the pills. Call whoever you want.”
“Who is Thomas Vale?”
Her shoulders went rigid.
Colleen whispered, “Lucy.”
I ignored her.
“Is Thomas my father?”
Mom turned.
And smiled.
It was not kind.
“You finally got there.”
My stomach twisted.
“Answer me.”
“Would it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you used blood to hurt my son.”
“Your son is the reason you should stop digging.”
I stepped toward her.
“What does Dany have to do with this?”
She stared at me for a long moment.
Then she said, “Richard loved you too much to tell you the truth.”
“What truth?”
Her eyes filled unexpectedly.
For one second she looked almost human.
Almost broken.
Then she whispered:
“Thomas Vale isn’t your father.”
Relief hit me so fast I nearly swayed.
But she was not finished.
“He’s Chelsea’s.”
Aunt Colleen gasped.
I stared at Mom.
“What?”
Mom laughed through sudden tears.
“Now do you understand?”
I didn’t.
Not even close.
“If Chelsea is Thomas’s daughter, why am I the one you treated like I didn’t belong?”
Margaret looked at me with thirty years of bitterness in her eyes.
“Because your father knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That Chelsea wasn’t his.”
My mouth went dry.
“And he loved her anyway.”
Mom’s voice cracked.
“But when you were born, Lucy, he loved you differently.”
“Because I was his?”
“Yes.”
I could not breathe.
“Then why punish me?”
Her answer was immediate.
“Because every time he looked at you, I saw what he had forgiven in himself but never in me.”
I stared.
“What did Dad do?”
The front door slammed downstairs.
Mom’s face changed.
Footsteps entered the hall.
Heavy.
Fast.
A man appeared behind her.
Gray hair.
Tall.
Older than in the station footage.
Thomas Vale.
May you like
He looked directly at Margaret.
“You still tell half the story better than anyone I know.”
