Chapter 8 - The Ghost Who Came Back
Thomas Vale had a scar running from the edge of his left eyebrow into his hairline.
That was the first thing I noticed.
The second was that he looked nothing like me.
The third was that Mom was terrified of him.
Not startled.
Not angry.
Terrified.
“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered.
Thomas walked into the study.
“You’ve been saying that since 1991.”
I looked behind him.
“Where’s my father?”
“Safe.”
“Where?”
“I’ll take you.”
“Now.”
“Soon.”
I stepped between him and the door.
“No more games.”
He looked at me for several seconds.
“Richard said you’d say that.”
“Everyone keeps quoting my father instead of letting me talk to him.”
“That’s because your father is trying to make sure you live long enough to be angry with him.”
The room went still.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret snapped, “Don’t listen to him.”
Thomas looked at the evidence pouch in my hand.
“You found the pills.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Did Dad give you the other sample?”
“Yes.”
“Tested?”
“Yes.”
“What were they?”
Thomas looked at Mom.
She sat down.
For the first time that night she seemed old.
“Tell her,” Mom said.
Thomas’s voice was quiet.
“Your father was prescribed a blood thinner, a cholesterol medication, a beta blocker, and an anti-seizure drug after his stroke.”
“I know.”
“The pills Richard preserved included something else.”
“What?”
“A sedative.”
I stared.
“How much?”
“Enough to make him foggy. Weak. Forgetful. Especially combined with his other medications.”
Aunt Colleen covered her mouth.
I looked at Mom.
“You drugged him?”
“No.”
Thomas said, “Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
“Someone did.”
“Who?”
“We don’t have proof yet.”
Mom laughed bitterly.
“He came back after thirty-five years and convinced Richard I was poisoning him.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“Then who changed the pills?”
“I don’t know.”
Thomas shook his head.
“She knows more than that.”
Mom stood.
“You don’t get to judge me.”
“I’m not.”
“You disappeared.”
“Yes.”
“You let everyone believe you were dead.”
“Yes.”
“You left me alone with it.”
Thomas’s face hardened.
“You told Richard I stole two hundred thousand dollars.”
“You did take money.”
“To stop Frederick.”
My mother went silent.
I looked at Thomas.
“Explain.”
He leaned against Dad’s desk.
“In 1991 Margaret’s uncle Frederick was attempting to take control of Vale and Harper Distribution. He had debt. Serious debt. He needed the company’s hospital contracts as collateral.”
“Mom forged Dad’s approval.”
“Yes.”
“She told Richard I did it,” Mom said.
Thomas nodded.
“And I found the forged papers.”
“What happened to the missing money?”
“I moved it.”
“You stole it?”
“I protected it.”
“Where?”
“An account Frederick couldn’t reach.”
“Why run?”
“Because Frederick didn’t only threaten lawsuits.”
His fingers touched the scar near his temple.
“He had men.”
The room seemed suddenly colder.
I looked at Mom.
“You knew?”
She nodded once.
“Why let Dad think Thomas was dead?”
Her eyes filled again.
“Because I thought Thomas actually was.”
Thomas looked at her.
“You saw me after the boat.”
She looked away.
My pulse accelerated.
“What boat?”
Thomas pushed up his sleeve.
There were pale scars along his forearm.
“Frederick arranged the accident.”
I felt sick.
“He tried to kill you?”
“Yes.”
“And Mom?”
“She helped me leave.”
I stared at her.
Nothing fit.
“You protected him?”
Margaret whispered, “At first.”
Thomas laughed once.
“At first.”
“What changed?”
He looked toward the family photos.
“Chelsea.”
No one spoke.
Thomas continued.
“Margaret and I had an affair.”
My mother shut her eyes.
“Once?”
“Long enough.”
“And Chelsea?”
“My daughter.”
I thought of my sister’s face.
Her laugh.
The way Dad applauded at her wedding.
“Dad knew?”
“Not until Chelsea was three.”
“How?”
“Blood typing after an accident.”
Mom sat back down.
“Richard confronted me.”
“What did he do?”
“Nothing.”
“What do you mean nothing?”
“He stayed.”
That answer was somehow more painful than violence would have been.
“He raised her?”
“Yes.”
“As his own?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did everything become about blood?”
Mom looked at me.
“Because Richard forgave Thomas.”
Thomas frowned.
She continued.
“He forgave him. Eventually. He forgave Chelsea before she even knew she needed forgiveness. And he forgave me enough to stay.”
“But?”
“He never trusted me again.”
There it was.
“And when you were born,” she said, “you became proof that he could still build something with me.”
“So you resented me.”
“I resented what you represented.”
I looked at the woman who had spent my childhood measuring my portions, achievements, clothes, grades, and worth against my sister.
“You punished a child because your husband loved her?”
Mom cried then.
Not dramatically.
Quietly.
“I was not well.”
“That explains nothing.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Thomas interrupted.
“Lucy, we need to leave.”
“Where is Dad?”
“With someone I trust.”
“Who?”
“Bernard.”
“He told me he hadn’t spoken to Dad.”
“He hadn’t.”
“Then who?”
Thomas looked at the clock.
“We have a bigger problem.”
“What?”
He picked up Dad’s evidence pouch.
“The lab that tested the second pill sample was broken into two hours ago.”
I stared.
“Was anything taken?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“The report.”
“Who knew about it?”
“Richard. Me. Bernard.”
He looked at Margaret.
“And one other person.”
Chelsea appeared in the doorway.
May you like
Her face was white.
“Me.”
