“No.”
“You invited every person we left out.”
“Yes.”
“That sounds intentional.”
“It was intentional. That doesn’t make it revenge.”
“Then what was it?”
I thought about Raymond arriving early because he assumed nobody else wanted him around.
I thought about Lena asking three times whether she really could bring her daughter.
I thought about Peter telling me James hadn’t attended a Mercer Thanksgiving in four years.
And I thought about Grandma crying when she saw the ramp.
“It was dinner,” I said. “For people who were tired of being told there wasn’t room.”
Mom looked away.
She left ten minutes later without mentioning Christmas.
That should have ended the issue.
It didn’t.
Three days later, Dad called.
“Your sister wants your financial records.”
I nearly dropped my coffee.
“What?”
“She thinks something about your company sale doesn’t add up.”
“What exactly does she think happened?”
Dad sighed.
“I don’t know. She asked whether you had access to Grandma’s accounts.”
My entire expression changed.
“That’s not funny.”
“I told her the same thing.”
“Does Grandma know?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“Claire, Melissa is embarrassed. She’s trying to understand how she could have missed something this big.”
“That doesn’t justify accusing me of stealing.”
“She didn’t say stealing.”
“She asked whether I had access to Grandma’s money after finding out I bought a multi-million-dollar house. We both know what she meant.”
Dad didn’t argue.
I ended the call and spent the next twenty minutes deciding whether I should
