“Then why the secret account? Why the man in the suit? Why the folder you shoved under the counter last week when I walked in?”
“Find out what, Lily?”
My daughter reached for my hand. I pulled it back. I didn’t mean to. It just happened.
“Please just listen to me,” she whispered.
“I’ve been listening all these years. And tonight, on your birthday, somebody left this on our porch. Somebody who knew exactly what was in it.”
“I don’t know who sent that. I swear I don’t!”
I pulled it back.
I stood up. The living room felt too small. My chest felt too tight.
“I need you to go and stay at Rachel’s tonight. Just for tonight. I can’t think straight.”
“Dad, please!”
“Go, Lily. I’m begging you.”
She grabbed her jacket and purse and left. I heard the door close softly, the way she always closed doors, careful not to wake anybody. That’s when I really broke.
“I need you to go.”
***
The next three days, I barely slept.
I called out of two shifts. Mark came by with coffee and told me I looked like hell.
“Because I am hell,” I said.
I laid everything from the box across the dining room table.
Mark pointed out that the man in the suit had a business card clipped to the back of the photo.
Reeves and Associates, Estate Planning.
I barely slept.
