Chapter 6 - WHAT ELOWEN SAW
Elowen saw it before I did.
Of course she did.
Naomi helped me search old emails.
Not for a mystery murder.
For family history.
Elowen wrote Drusilla two years before she died:
Please stop telling Ysella that adults choose rooms based on who contributes financially. She is two.
I stared.
I had never seen that.
Another:
You may not refer to my office as “your future room.”
Another:
Gervase and I decide who lives in our house.
I closed my eyes.
Drusilla had been testing boundaries even then.
Why did Elowen not tell me more?
She did.
I searched my own messages.
ELowen:
Your mom tried to rearrange the upstairs again.
Me:
I’ll talk to her.
ELowen:
Please actually talk, not charm.
I hated myself.
Another:
ELowen:
She told Ysella this house is “Norwood property.”
Me:
Mom says weird stuff.
Elowen:
Weird becomes precedent if no one corrects it.
There.
I had corrected nothing strongly enough.
Then I found one final email from Elowen to Naomi during her illness.
Subject:
DRUSILLA / HOUSE.
Elowen wanted to ensure Drusilla’s $180,000 contribution could never be mischaracterized.
Naomi sent her:
Gift letter.
Mortgage file.
Tax documentation showing Drusilla had filed the transfer as a gift under federal reporting rules.
Good.
Elowen wrote:
Thank you. I do not think she will challenge ownership while I’m alive. I worry what grief will make Gervase tolerate afterward.
I stopped reading.
Naomi let me sit.
“That hurts.”
“Yes.”
“She trusted you.”
“Not enough.”
“She knew you loved your mother.”
“That’s not the same as being weak.”
“No.”
I looked at the screen.
“But I was weak about boundaries.”
That was mine.
Then Claire brought Ysella home.
The bedroom had been cleared.
Boxes gone.
New bedding because one box had leaked cedar oil onto the old comforter.
Ysella stood in the doorway.
“Mine?”
“Yours.”
“Grandma coming back?”
“Not to live here.”
“Can she take it later?”
“No.”
She walked inside slowly.
Touched the bed.
Then her stuffed rabbit.
“Can Bunny stay?”
“Yes.”
“Forever?”
“Until Bunny starts paying rent.”
She stared.
Too young.
Bad joke.
“Bunny no money.”
“Exactly.”
She smiled.
Good.
Then she asked:
“Grandma said Mommy made you forget her.”
“Who?”
“Grandma.”
“What did she mean?”
I sat on the floor.
“I think Grandma felt jealous when I made my own family.”
“Am I own family?”
“You are my daughter. You are my family.”
“Grandma family?”
“Yes.”
That answer hurt.
“But family can still have rules.”
“What rule?”
“No hitting you. No taking your room. No making you feel like you don’t belong.”
She nodded.
Simple.
Then:
“Did you hit Grandma?”
“Yes.”
“Rule?”
My stomach tightened.
“Yes.”
“So you broke.”
“Yes.”
She thought.
“You say sorry?”
“I will take responsibility.”
“That not sorry.”
Children are ruthless.
I eventually wrote Drusilla an apology for the slap.
Not reconciliation.
Not excuse.
I am sorry I struck you. I was wrong to use violence after Ysella was safe.
Her response:
Then perhaps we are even.
No.
We were not doing arithmetic.
I did not answer.
That evening Palisade requested an interview.
The lender had located the full requested loan amount.
Naomi knew before I did.
She looked at me across the conference table.
“Gervase, your mother wasn’t trying to borrow a few hundred thousand dollars.”
“How much?”
She slid the document forward.
May you like
The number was enough to make my mouth go dry.
But the bank still had not explained what hole Drusilla was trying to fill.
