Chapter 8 - THE RED BOOK
The red book belonged to David Cole.
Not a church ledger.
A private notebook.
Travis said his father recorded debts, favors, weaknesses, and what people needed.
“Was it blackmail?” Daniel asked. “Sometimes.”
Then Travis said he had read it as a teenager.
“What did it say about me?” I asked. “Reliable.”
I laughed bitterly. Then: “About Daniel?”
“Protective. Easy to distract with work.” Daniel frowned. “About James?” “Needs respect.” “Paul?” “Wants money.” “Linda?”
“Needs Dad’s approval.” “And you?”
Travis looked down.
“Travis needs someone to blame.” Silence.
“Was he right?” “Yes.”
The book had passed from David to Linda, then briefly to Pastor James, then to a denominational attorney. After a legal review, Travis authorized us to see only sections connected to church conduct.
My entry read:
“Sarah wants church approval more than she admits. Use her if vote is close.” That hurt. Then:
“Daniel will say no to risk if told full amount. Don’t tell full amount until Sarah commits.” There.
David had strategically separated us because he understood our marriage dynamic.
Then the loan entry:
“HOLD 82K. NOT TO PUNISH TRAVIS. TRANSFER TO RESERVE UNTIL TREATMENT.”
He knew he was withholding his adult son’s money. Then:
“Do not tell Sarah. She will insist proper process.”
He knew I would object. Then:
“If I die, Linda must unwind all of this. Sarah can help.” Again.
Even his contingency plan turned me into cleanup.
Travis read one page and started crying.
His father had written a letter tucked into the back.
“Son, the $82,000 is yours. I am holding it because I am afraid you will die if I give it to you now. I know this is control. I do not know how to love you without controlling what scares me.”
Travis covered his face.
Then another line:
“Do not blame Sarah. She argued that adults must be paid what they are owed.”
I remembered a vague conversation with David years earlier. He had asked what I thought about withholding money from someone who was drinking heavily. I told him, “You can’t parent adults with contracts.”
I never knew he meant Travis.
Then the last line of David’s letter:
“Sarah will fix what I fail.”
Travis stared at it.
Then took a pen and crossed it out. “No.”
He looked at me.
“I’ll fix what’s mine.” That mattered.
But the book contained one page that frightened Daniel and me for a different reason.
Twenty years earlier.
The date of my miscarriage.
“SARAH — HOSPITAL. SHE WILL OVERWORK AFTER. GIVE HER SOMETHING TO DO. DANIEL SHOULD NOT KNOW HOW BAD SHE IS.”
Daniel turned toward me.
“You were that bad?”
I started crying. “Yes.”
I had been depressed. I had hidden it. Linda knew. Linda told David.
Then an impression on a torn-out page appeared under forensic light.
“SARAH — FAMILY MONEY — DO NOT LET DANIEL SEE.”
May you like
A financial secret tied to our miscarriage.
And this time, I knew somewhere inside me that I had been part of hiding it too.
