Part 6: The First Note Was Worse
There had been a note in the kitchen drawer.
I never wanted it to happen this way. I’m sorry.
That was the one Jessica left for me.
The pretty version.
The version with just enough regret to wound me and not enough truth to help.
But apparently, there had been another one.
Lily had found it ripped in half in the trash can under the guest bathroom sink. She taped it together with glitter tape because that was what she had.
Detective Cobb put on gloves before touching the receipt, which made the whole thing feel like a TV show, except my kitchen smelled like frozen pizza and Peanut was licking his butt under the table.
“What did the note say?” I asked.
Lily looked at Detective Cobb.
He unfolded the receipt.
“The post office has it?” he asked.
“I mailed it to me,” Lily said. “So nobody could take it. It should come tomorrow.”
Detective Cobb stared at her for a second.
Then he laughed once. Not because it was funny.
Because sometimes adults make a sound when a child has outsmarted every adult in the room.
The next day, the envelope arrived.
Lily’s name was written on the front in her own careful handwriting.
Inside was the torn note.
Jessica had written it in blue pen on my grocery list.
Emily,
I know you’ll hate me, but you always land on your feet. I don’t. Ethan says this is our only chance. He knows a guy who can move the money before your bank locks it. I was going to ask, but you would’ve said no, and I can’t keep being the pathetic sister who needs help. I’ll pay you back when we’re settled. Tell Lily I love her.
J.
Under that, in Ethan’s handwriting, were two words.
Too soft.
Detective Cobb photographed it on my kitchen counter.
The blue ink bled a little where Lily’s glitter tape had stuck.
May you like
I could not stop looking at “Tell Lily I love her.”
Like love was a coupon she could still use after robbing my child blind.
