Chapter 29 - THE PHOTOGRAPH
Rachel placed the sealed envelope on the dining-room table at exactly seven twelve. I noticed the time because Maisie had been checking the clock every three minutes since dinner. Anna came too, uninvited and pretending she was only there because she had made too much lasagna. Nobody believed her. The envelope looked absurdly ordinary. Cream paper. Maisie’s name written in Corinne’s handwriting. No prison stamp because the letter had originally passed through counsel years earlier. Maisie sat opposite me. “Did you read it?” “No.” “Ever?” “No.” “Why?” “Because it was written to you.” She thought about that. “But you could’ve.” “Yes.” “You didn’t.” “No.” Something softened in her face. Then she opened it.
She read silently. I watched every movement despite knowing I shouldn’t. Her eyebrows tightened halfway down the first page. Once she looked toward me and immediately returned to the letter. Anna reached for my hand under the table. I ignored her. Finally Maisie put the pages down. “She says she was jealous of me.” No one spoke. “Not because I had money. Because I called for you.” Her voice became smaller. “She says when I cried ‘Daddy,’ she felt like she was losing.” I swallowed. Corinne had written something similar to me years ago. Apparently she had put it in Maisie’s letter too. “She says she knew I was scared.” “Yes.” “And she still did it.” “Yes.” Maisie looked angry now. “Then why does she say she loved me?” There was no answer I liked. “People can feel love and still behave in ways that are harmful.” “That sounds stupid.” Anna said quietly, “Sometimes people are.” Maisie almost smiled.
Then she picked up the second page. “She says she never planned to kill Mom.” The room changed. “The evidence never showed that she planned it,” I said carefully. “You told me that.” “Yes.” “She says she wanted Mom to pull over because she thought she could stop her from sending everything to you.” “That matches what we know.” “Then she says after the crash she saw Mom moving.” Her voice cracked. I wanted to take the letter away. Instead I waited. “She says she was afraid that if she called an ambulance, police would come and find the phone before she did.” Maisie stared at me. “So she chose herself.” “Yes.” “Again.” “Yes.” “And Mom died.” My mouth went dry. “Your mother’s injuries were very severe. We don’t know whether faster help would have saved her.” “But Corinne didn’t even try.” “No.” Maisie pushed the letter away.
She went upstairs without finishing dinner.
May you like
I followed five minutes later and stopped outside her room. “Can I come in?” “No.” The word still mattered in our house. “Okay.” I sat in the hallway. Ten minutes passed. Then the door opened. Maisie stared down at me. “You’re weird.” “I’ve heard that.” She sat beside me. “Do you hate her?” “Corinne?” “Yes.” “Not the way I used to.” “Why?” “Because hating her every day made her part of every day.” Maisie leaned her head against the wall. “I think I hate her.” “You’re allowed.” “What if I don’t someday?” “You’re allowed.” “What if I want to ask her something?” My chest tightened. There it was. The question I had feared since she opened the envelope. “You’re allowed to want that too.” Maisie looked at me sharply, as though she expected resistance. “You mean it?” I forced myself to answer before fear could rewrite me. “Yes.” She looked down. “I don’t want to see her.” Relief arrived so violently I was ashamed of it. Then Maisie added, “Not yet.”
The next morning, Rachel called. “There’s another issue.” “Of course there is.” “A production company has requested access to several public records from Corinne’s case.” “What production company?” “They’re making a documentary series.” I closed my eyes. “About Laura?” “About Corinne.” My stomach dropped. “Who authorized it?” “Apparently Corinne gave prison interviews years ago.” I looked upstairs toward Maisie’s room. “Did she sell them?” “I don’t know yet.” “When does this come out?” Rachel was silent for half a second too long. “The trailer drops Friday.”
