Chapter 4 - My Mother’s Certainty
Estelle did not call me for four days.
Then she called eleven times in one afternoon.
I answered the twelfth.
“Cormac.”
“Mom.”
“I want to see Percival.”
“No.”
Silence.
Then:
“You can’t keep my grandson from me forever.”
“I said no today.”
She changed tactics.
“I was wrong to hit him.”
“Yes.”
“I apologized.”
“To me.”
“I haven’t been allowed to talk to him.”
“That’s why you haven’t apologized to him.”
She breathed hard.
“You hit me.”
“Yes.”
“You act as though you’re morally superior.”
“I have never said that.”
“You fractured this family.”
“No.”
The old Bellamy habit.
Assign one person responsibility for everything because uncertainty makes us itch.
I asked:
“Why were you so sure Percival had the ring?”
“He was at the table.”
“So was Thayer.”
“He has a history.”
My whole body tightened.
“What history?”
“You know.”
“No.”
“The cufflink.”
I laughed.
“Mom, he found a cufflink under your sofa.”
“He put it in his pocket.”
“He was five.”
“Children who aren’t corrected become adults who take things.”
There.
Then I asked:
“Who else talked to you about Percival taking things?”
Silence.
“Mom.”
“Thayer mentioned it.”
My pulse slowed.
“When?”
“Over the past few months.”
“What did he say?”
“Nothing sinister.”
“Tell me anyway.”
She sighed.
“He noticed Percival handled things without asking.”
Examples?
A boutonniere pin.
A hotel key card.
A cake topper.
Every one returned.
Normal curiosity that needed correction, perhaps.
Not theft.
Then:
“He told me to keep an eye on him around the wedding jewelry.”
There.
“How far before the wedding?”
“A few days.”
“Exact.”
“I don’t know.”
“Check your phone.”
She bristled.
“Cormac.”
“Check.”
Two minutes later:
“Thursday.”
Wedding Saturday.
“What did he write?”
She read:
Percy seems extra curious lately. Maybe keep jewelry cases up high during setup. Last thing Gwen needs is something wandering into one of those little pockets.
I closed my eyes.
“Any more?”
Another:
Not saying he’d steal. Kids just grab shiny stuff.
Then Friday:
He’ll probably be around the bridal table because of the airplane cards. Just watch the ring.
My hand tightened around the phone.
“He knew Percival would be near that table.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
Estelle paused.
“Because he knew about the place cards.”
Maybe innocent.
Then:
“Did he tell you to search Percival if the ring went missing?”
“No.”
That mattered.
“What did he say?”
“Nothing like that.”
“So the slap was yours.”
Silence.
“Yes.”
Good.
No transferring every ounce of guilt to the groom.
She had been primed.
She still chose to strike.
Then she whispered:
“He used me.”
“Maybe.”
“Cormac.”
“Maybe. We need evidence.”
“You’re defending him?”
“No. I’m refusing to do to him what you did to Percival.”
That hurt.
Good.
The next morning Estelle voluntarily gave the messages to police.
Her attorney advised cooperation.
She also received a misdemeanor battery citation for striking Percival.
I received one for striking her.
Symmetry did not mean equivalence.
A sixty-four-year-old woman had hit a child she falsely accused.
A thirty-nine-year-old man had retaliated against her.
Both were wrong.
Both would be handled.
That afternoon Gwendolyn called.
“The replica was delivered.”
“Where is it?”
“No one knows.”
“Thayer?”
“He says he threw it away.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
“He says after the wedding collapsed it felt disgusting.”
“Where did he throw it?”
“He doesn’t remember which trash can.”
“That’s convenient.”
“Yes.”
Then:
“He says it was supposed to be my anniversary gift.”
I almost laughed.
Gwendolyn didn’t.
“He ordered an exact copy of Grandma’s ring as an anniversary gift before we were married.”
“Yes.”
“And told the jeweler it was for travel security.”
“Yes.”
Two stories.
May you like
Not proof of theft.
But the floor beneath Thayer’s explanation was starting to shift.
