Chapter 6 - The Brother’s Arrival
The noon flight from Seattle touched down at Denver International Airport thirty minutes ahead of schedule.
By two o’clock, David’s rental SUV pulled into my driveway. When he climbed out, he wasn't wearing his surgeon’s scrubs or a corporate coat; he was wearing an old navy pea coat Thomas had given him for his twenty-first birthday, his dark hair tousled by the high-plains wind.
He didn't knock. He walked straight through the front door, set his duffel bag on the floor, and wrapped his arms around me. He was tall, like his father, and smelled of cold pine and cedar.
“You look good, Mom,” he said, pulling back to look at my face. “Tired, but good.”
“I feel awake, David,” I told him, patting his cheek. “More awake than I’ve been since your father died.”
He walked into the dining room, whistling softly when he saw the neat stacks of paper covering the mahogany surface. He pulled out a chair, sat down, and began flipping through the folders with the practiced, rapid efficiency of a doctor reading charts.
“Eighty-three grand for the school and the car,” David muttered, shaking his head. “Plus fourteen in cash handouts. And the Amex Greg took out under the trust name?”
“Richard took the statements with him,” I said. “He’s going to confront Greg this afternoon at their house.”
David leaned back in the chair, crossing his arms. “I should be there.”
“No, David. This isn't your fight.”
“The hell it isn't,” he said sharply. “Mom, Jessica has spent three years treating you like a combination of an ATM and an au pair. She’s my sister. When Dad died, we made a pact that we would look after you together. Instead, she looked at your grief and saw an opportunity.”
Before I could answer, the gravel outside crunched again.
It was Jessica.
This time, she wasn't driving the Audi. She was driving a battered, ten-year-old hatchback borrowed from one of her fitness instructors. The bumper had a dent on the passenger side, and the engine gave off a high, screeching belt squeal as she cut the ignition.
David stood up immediately. “Let me handle this.”
“We handle it together,” I said, placing a firm hand on his forearm. “No shouting. No hysterics. Just the truth.”
When Jessica walked through the front door, she didn't look like the manicured suburban mother who had scoffed at my socks on Christmas Day. Her mascara was smeared beneath her left eye, her hair was shoved into a messy baseball cap, and she was clutching a folder of her own against her chest.
She stopped dead in the entryway when she saw David standing beside me.
“David?” she whispered, her voice cracking. “What are you doing here? Did she call you to gang up on me?”
“Nobody called me to gang up on you, Jess,” David said, his voice flat and clinical. “I flew here because our mother had to cancel three years of unauthorized living subsidies while you handed out luxury vacations to your in-laws.”
Jessica’s face twisted into an expression of profound outrage. “You don't understand the situation! Greg was on the verge of closing a massive seed round! We just needed to keep the kids settled and keep up appearances for six more months!”
“Appearances?” David took two steps forward, towering over her. “You were driving a luxury SUV while Mom was driving an eight-year-old Subaru with a cracked taillight! You were having her peel potatoes and scrub your roasting pans while you bragged to Greg’s parents about ocean-view suites! Do you have any idea how disgusting that is?”
“I didn't ask her to scrub pans!” Jessica screamed, tears finally spilling over her cheeks. “She just started doing it! She’s always doing that—stepping in, making herself indispensable, and then playing the martyr when things don't go her way!”
*Martyr.*
The word struck the dining room like a flare, illuminating the ugly, twisted architecture of Jessica’s rationalizations.
“Is that what you think I was doing, Jessica?” I asked, stepping out from behind David.
My voice wasn't loud, but it had an edge of iron that stopped her mid-breath.
“I stepped in because three years ago, you sat on my carpet, tore your hair, and told me that if Leo and Mia had to leave Oakridge, their lives would be ruined. You told me Greg was depressed, that he wouldn't get out of bed, that you couldn't afford groceries. I didn't step in to be a martyr. I stepped in to keep my grandchildren from suffering because their father was a fraud and their mother was too vain to admit they were broke.”
Jessica shrank back against the front door, her eyes darting between me and David.
“We’re broke, Mom,” she whispered, the defiance draining out of her, replaced by raw, ugly terror. “The Audi is gone. The repossession agency took it from the driveway two hours ago in front of the whole street. Oakridge gave us until Friday to pay twelve thousand dollars or the kids are dismissed. And Greg... Greg’s father just showed up at the house. He threw the Amex statements on the kitchen table and told Greg he was an embarrassment to the family.”
“Richard did the right thing,” David said.
“He told Greg he was disinheriting him!” Jessica sobbed, sliding down the door frame until she was sitting on the hardwood floor, her designer coat bunched beneath her. “He told Greg that if he didn't pay Mom back every dime of that credit card debt, he would personally take the evidence to the district attorney! We don't have twelve thousand dollars! We don't have twelve *hundred* dollars! What are we supposed to do?”
I looked down at my daughter, sitting on the exact spot where she used to sit as a five-year-old, crying over skinned knees.
Back then, I would have knelt down, scooped her up, and kissed the pain away. I would have promised that everything was going to be fine, that Mommy would fix it, that nothing bad would ever touch her.
I stayed where I was.
“You’re going to do what every other adult in this country does when they live beyond their means, Jessica,” I said softly. “You’re going to downsize.”
“Downsize?” she choked out, looking up at me. “We have a five-bedroom lease in Falcon Crest!”
“Break it,” David said. “Move into an apartment. Sell the furniture. Sell the jewelry Greg bought you with Mom’s money. Enroll Leo and Mia in the public elementary school down the road—it’s one of the best districts in the state, Jess. Dad and I went to public school, and we turned out fine.”
“Public school?” She whispered the words as if David had suggested sending them to a salt mine. “Everyone in my social circle sends their kids to Oakridge!”
May you like
“Then get a new social circle,” I told her. “Because the one you have was purchased with my retirement, and the account is closed.”
---
