Chapter 13 - The Note I Wasn't Meant to See
The letter had no accusation in it. That almost made it unbearable.
Maya asked me to stop letting Tiffany make decisions before she had a chance to speak. She asked whether being respectful meant never saying no. She wrote that she still loved Tiffany sometimes, especially when they made pancakes on Sundays, which was why she got confused when the rules changed on Mondays.
At the bottom was a sentence about me: I don't think you want me to be unhappy. I think you don't know how much work it is to keep you from being disappointed.
I read it in the car, with Maya watching my face in the rearview mirror.
"Can I answer it?" I asked.
She nodded.
"I let somebody else decide what was right for you. I kept saying I was busy because being busy felt like a good reason. It wasn't. You were a kid, not a problem to solve."
She glanced out the window. "I'm not sure I believe that part yet."
"You don't have to."
At Ruth's, we opened Maya's blue phone together. There were dozens of drafts she had typed without sending: messages to Kelly, to me, and to a friend from orchestra. The oldest asked whether she could stay with Grandma on Thursdays. The newest simply said, I'm scared I'll lose my room.
"You are not losing your room," I said.
"Tiffany said the house was yours and hers. She said I was lucky you let me stay."
That night, I searched the documents Lena had requested from Good Order. Buried in the brochure archive was a photograph of our dining room table. It showed four adults smiling over notebooks while a child's bucket sat visible at the edge.
Beneath the photograph was a caption: A peaceful home requires a child who understands her place.
May you like
I saved it, then called Lena. "I want that removed."
"We can demand it," she said. "But the woman who wrote it has already sent something else to your employer."
