Chapter 20 - LAUREN’S LETTER
Caleb chose to read Lauren’s letter at thirteen.
He sat with Maya’s successor, Dr. Erin Walsh.
I waited outside.
He asked me to join halfway through.
Lauren wrote:
Caleb,
I helped your father steal money from the company.
Direct.
Then:
I also took your mother’s backup drive because I was afraid she would expose us.
Then:
I was in the car with your father when we followed her.
Caleb’s hands tightened.
Lauren did not claim innocence.
She wrote that she told Evan to stop.
True.
That she told him to call 911.
True.
Then:
I still left.
Also true.
I told myself that because I had not been driving, what happened was not mine. That was a lie I used because the truth was frightening.
Caleb stopped.
“Did she love Dad?”
“I think so.”
“Did he love her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you love him?”
“Yes.”
He looked annoyed.
“Everybody loved everybody and still did all this.”
“Love does not automatically produce good behavior.”
“I hate that sentence.”
“So do I.”
He finished.
Lauren apologized for wearing my ring.
That had bothered him.
Why?
“It made it look like she was replacing you.”
I nodded.
“She wrote that?”
“Yes.”
Lauren said Evan gave it to her and she knew wearing it was wrong.
She wanted to feel chosen.
Caleb folded the letter.
“Do I answer?”
“Only if you want.”
“I don’t.”
He never did.
Lauren completed custody years later.
Probation.
Restitution.
She rebuilt a career in a smaller, unrelated industry under strict disclosure? Maybe no need.
She never contacted us again.
Good.
Her accountability did not require relationship.
Then Caleb asked a harder question.
“Would Dad have stopped if Lauren got out of the car?”
I could not answer.
Maybe.
Maybe not.
“Does that matter?”
“To who?”
“To whether it’s her fault.”
I thought.
“It matters to understanding choices. It doesn’t turn her into the driver.”
He nodded.
At thirteen, nuance was becoming possible.
That night he looked up Evan’s case online despite restrictions.
Teenagers find things.
He read comments calling Evan a murderer.
Technically convicted of aggravated assault, not attempted murder.
“Is Dad a murderer?”
“No.”
“But he almost killed you.”
“Yes.”
“He left you.”
“Yes.”
“So what is he?”
“Your father. A man convicted of serious crimes. Someone who nearly caused my death.”
“Why not murderer?”
“Because words have definitions.”
He stared.
“You care too much about words.”
“Yes.”
May you like
Years earlier, words were all Evan used to make reality flexible.
I had learned to make them precise.
