Chapter 19 - MY MOTHER’S ANSWER
We met in a secure counseling room at the county facility.
No glass partition.
Officer outside.
Counselor present.
Doreen wore jail clothing.
I had never seen my mother without the ability to choose what she wore.
It made me uncomfortable.
Good.
Punishment should not become entertainment.
She sat.
“Abram.”
“Mom.”
The word came automatically.
Still.
I asked my question.
“Why did you think you could let Celia out and make this go away?”
Doreen looked down.
“Because you always came back.”
“To what?”
“To me.”
I stared.
“When you were eighteen, you left after your father and I refused to pay for that motorcycle. You came back.”
“I was eighteen.”
“When you moved to Denver, you came back to the company.”
“Dad was sick.”
“When you married Celia, you still called me every day.”
“What does any of that have to do with locking her up?”
Doreen’s voice shook.
“I thought our family could survive anything if I fixed the practical damage first.”
There.
The doctrine.
Repair the money.
Repair the records.
Open the door.
Then demand emotional return.
“What did you think I’d do?”
“Be furious.”
“And?”
“Eventually understand I was trying to protect what your father built.”
I laughed once.
“You thought I’d forgive you for imprisoning my pregnant wife because you saved the company?”
Doreen started crying.
“Yes.”
At least honest.
“The company isn’t saved.”
“I know.”
“Was it worth it?”
“No.”
“Was the first client loan worth it?”
She looked away.
“At the time?”
“Yes.”
“What did you think?”
“That I had made the hard decision no one else was willing to make.”
“And when you sold Evelyn’s brooch?”
Doreen cried harder.
“I knew by then.”
“Knew what?”
“That I wasn’t borrowing anymore.”
There.
She had crossed a line and recognized it.
Then:
“Why personal spending?”
“I was angry.”
“At who?”
“Everyone.”
Not good enough.
She tried again.
“I had spent years telling myself I was sacrificing for the company. Eventually I began believing the company owed me whatever I wanted.”
That fit.
Then I asked:
“Did you hate Celia?”
“No.”
“Did you resent her?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“She asked questions.”
I almost smiled.
“Dad asked questions.”
“He was allowed.”
There.
Family hierarchy.
Celia was not.
Then:
“She changed you.”
“Good.”
Doreen flinched.
“She made you suspicious of me.”
“No. Your actions did.”
Silence.
Then she asked:
“Will I know June?”
My entire body tightened.
“I don’t know.”
“Have you named her?”
“Yes.”
“Will you tell me?”
I thought.
“June.”
Doreen closed her eyes.
“Beautiful.”
No middle-name question.
Good.
Then:
“Can I write to her someday?”
“She is a baby.”
“I mean later.”
“I don’t know.”
She nodded.
No argument.
Progress or circumstance.
Then I said:
“I hit you.”
Doreen looked at me.
“I know.”
“I was wrong.”
“You were protecting Celia.”
“No. She was already safe and police were there.”
Doreen stared.
“I wanted to hurt you.”
She swallowed.
“I know.”
“I’m sorry.”
Her face changed.
“You don’t have to—”
“I’m not trading apologies.”
Silence.
Then she whispered:
“I’m sorry too.”
“For what?”
I needed specifics.
“For locking Celia in the shed.”
“Yes.”
“For using her phone.”
“Yes.”
“For changing records under her name.”
“Yes.”
“For taking money I had no right to take.”
“Yes.”
“For making you think choosing your wife meant betraying me.”
There.
That one.
I nodded.
No hug.
No forgiveness declaration.
The counselor ended the session after forty-five minutes.
As I stood, Doreen said:
“Abram.”
I turned.
“Your father would be ashamed of me.”
I considered.
“Probably.”
She almost laughed.
Then I said:
“He’d be ashamed of some things I did too.”
Not equal.
Still.
I left.
Outside, rain had started.
For a second the parking lot smelled like the night of the shed.
My hands shook.
Then stopped.
I called Celia.
“How was it?”
“Sad.”
“Useful?”
“Maybe.”
“Do you want to come home?”
“Yes.”
That was enough.
Sentencing remained.
Appeals remained.
Company restitution remained.
But the family lie was over.
Doreen no longer claimed she had done nothing.
She no longer claimed Celia misunderstood.
She no longer claimed I had destroyed the company because of my wife.
May you like
She had finally named her choices.
Now the court would name the consequences.
