Chapter 13 - Theresa Finally Told Me Who She Thought My Money Belonged To
I met my mother once during the first year after Lucy’s treatment restarted.
Neutral office.
Her attorney not present.
Family therapist.
Lucy declined.
Her choice.
Theresa looked older.
No hummingbird necklace.
Good.
She began:
“I thought you came to hear an apology.”
“I came to understand.”
“That sounds worse.”
“It probably is.”
I asked:
“Why Melissa?”
Theresa stared.
“What?”
“Why did you use Lucy’s care money on Melissa?”
“She was losing her home.”
“Lucy had cancer.”
“Melissa had children.”
There.
Not greed exactly.
Hierarchy.
“Why was Lucy lower?”
Theresa became defensive.
“She wasn’t.”
“Then explain.”
She cried.
Then finally:
“Because Melissa is my daughter.”
I said nothing.
“And Lucy?”
Theresa looked down.
“Your wife.”
There it was.
Blood.
Inside.
Outside.
Then:
“I kept thinking you would eventually marry someone else.”
My chest tightened.
“What?”
“Lucy was so sick.”
“That is exactly when she was most my wife.”
Theresa covered her face.
“I know.”
“No.”
“You didn’t.”
“You treated her like a temporary expense.”
The words hurt:
me.
They destroyed:
her.
She whispered:
“I was afraid you’d come home with nothing.”
I laughed once.
“You had more than a hundred thousand dollars from me.”
“For Lucy.”
“Yes.”
“Exactly.”
Theresa looked confused.
Then I understood.
She thought family resources should remain available for:
the family that survives.
Melissa.
Grandchildren.
Theresa.
Me.
Lucy’s treatment looked like:
money disappearing into uncertainty.
Then my settlement.
A million.
Suddenly resources:
returned.
That was why greed appeared immediately in the driveway.
Not just greed for:
luxury.
Relief.
Possibility.
She saw the envelope and thought:
Nathan can still save us.
Again.
I asked:
“Did you ever believe Lucy might recover?”
Theresa cried.
“At first.”
“And later?”
“I thought we were pouring everything into somebody who was going to die.”
I stood.
She whispered:
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at her.
“Do you know what the worst part is?”
She shook her head.
“You decided Lucy’s life was a bad investment.”
I left.
We did not speak again for:
May you like
eighteen months.
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