Chapter 4 - The Duplicate Key
My parents lived twenty minutes from Grandma in a beige colonial that looked exactly the way it had when I was sixteen.
Leah came with me.
So did Grandma.
Mom opened the door and immediately looked past us toward the car.
“Where’s Sophie?”
“With a sitter Leah trusts.”
Mom’s mouth tightened.
“You’re keeping my granddaughter from me now?”
“I’m keeping my daughter away from someone who signed papers saying I shouldn’t have her.”
Dad appeared behind Mom.
David Carter had always been the quiet parent. He fixed things. Grills. Faucets. Flat tires. Arguments were something he survived by finding another room.
He looked at me and seemed to age five years.
“Em.”
I held up the custody affidavit.
“Did you know?”
His eyes moved to Mom.
That was answer enough.
We sat at the dining table where I had done homework as a kid.
Mom kept both hands wrapped around a mug she never drank from.
“Ryan was worried about you,” she said. “You were barely sleeping. You cried all the time.”
“I had a newborn.”
“You said you couldn’t do it.”
“I said I couldn’t do everything.”
“You don’t understand how you sounded.”
“Then why didn’t you help me?”
That finally shut her up.
Leah asked for the baby-monitor credentials.
Mom refused.
Grandma stood.
“Linda.”
My mother flinched.
Grandma’s voice was not loud.
“You lied to me for four years about my granddaughter. You intercepted money I sent to her. You signed testimony against her as a mother. You are done deciding which questions you answer.”
Mom’s face went white with anger.
“You think money gives you the right to command everyone.”
“No,” Grandma said. “But your actions give me the right to stop trusting you.”
Dad disappeared into the hallway.
A minute later, he returned holding a small brass key.
Mom stood abruptly.
“David.”
He placed the key on the table.
“What is that?” I asked.
Dad looked at me.
“A duplicate key to your house.”
My mouth went dry.
“Why do you have that?”
“Your mother had three made.”
Mom’s chair scraped back.
“Because Ryan asked me to check on the baby.”
“When?”
“After Sophie was born.”
Dad closed his eyes.
“No.”
Mom stared at him.
He looked at me instead.
“Ryan started coming here before the wedding.”
My pulse slowed into something heavy.
“What do you mean?”
Dad swallowed.
“He asked your mother questions about Evelyn. About the family. About what you might inherit.”
Mom snapped, “That is not what happened.”
Dad’s voice broke for the first time I could remember.
“He asked how much money Emily would get before he ever put a ring on her finger.”
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