Chapter 11 - What Money Cannot Buy
I visited Mom’s grave alone the next morning.
Ruth waited by the cemetery gate.
I brought grocery-store flowers because that was what I could afford without using Vincent’s money.
“You should’ve told me,” I said.
The grass was still thin over the dirt.
“I would’ve been angry.
But I would’ve helped.”
A groundskeeper pushed a mower across the far end of the cemetery.
Life kept doing ordinary things around the worst moments.
That had offended me when Mom died.
It still did.
“I don’t know what to do with him.”
The stone had no answer.
Neither did I.
When I returned, Vincent was standing outside the gate, holding nothing.
No flowers.
No gift.
No performance.
“Ruth said you were here.
I asked if I could wait.”
“You shouldn’t need permission to stand on a sidewalk.”
“I’m learning that wanting to be near you isn’t the same as having a right to.”
I looked away.
He handed me a sealed envelope.
“What’s this?”
“The laboratory information.
If you want a paternity test.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then you don’t.”
I took it.
Not because I needed proof that he’d loved my mother.
Because I wanted one thing in my life that didn’t depend on someone’s version of the truth.
We used an independent lab Evelyn recommended, after I checked it myself.
The result wouldn’t change what needed to happen Friday.
Adrian had threatened Mom.
Forged a letter.
Stolen years.
Biology didn’t make any of that more or less wrong.
That afternoon, Vincent met with Ruiz and his attorney.
He came out three hours later looking as though he had aged another decade.
“What did you tell him?” I asked.
“Enough that there will be consequences.”
“For Adrian?”
“For me.”
I didn’t hug him.
I didn’t forgive him.
But I moved my bag off the chair beside me.
He sat.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then his phone rang.
Evelyn.
He listened, and the little color left in his face disappeared.
“What?” I asked.
He lowered the phone.
“Adrian knows Malcolm talked.”
My own phone lit up.
A message from Adrian.
Bring the packet yourself tomorrow.
No Vincent.
No security in the room.
May you like
Below it was a second line.
Ask your chef what happens when people forget who pays them.
