Chapter 15 - The Deal He Couldn't Make
"No," Mom said before her attorney finished explaining.
We were in a small office with a humming air conditioner. I sat with a spiral notebook open on my lap, drawing the same square over and over.
"Sarah," the lawyer said, "you don't have to respond to an offer like this yourself. I'll tell the prosecutor you won't make a false statement."
"Good. Because I won't."
I stared at her. Dad had trained me to believe that disagreeing with him was dangerous. Mom sounded frightened, but she didn't take her words back.
The attorney explained that prosecutors would decide whether to accept any plea and what evidence they needed. Nobody could promise us a particular sentence. That was hard to hear. I wanted a number big enough to keep Dad away until my hair turned gray.
"If he gets out," I asked, "can he find us?"
"We have protections and a plan," Beth said. "We'll keep reviewing them."
That night I had the dream about the yellow pantry again. In the dream, the door opened, but I was still trapped because I couldn't make my feet move.
Mom heard me crying and sat on the edge of my bed.
"I'm not sleeping," I told her.
"Me neither."
"Do you ever miss him?"
She stared at her hands. "I miss the man he pretended to be when we first met. Sometimes that feels like missing someone who never existed."
"I miss having a dad," I said. "Not him. Just the part everybody else seems to have."
She put her arm around me. "You don't have to decide how to feel tonight."
A few days later, Detective Vega informed us that prosecutors had filed additional charges connected to the fund transfers. Denise had also been charged for her role. We were relieved, but nobody celebrated.
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Then a letter arrived addressed to me, forwarded through Dad's attorney and screened by ours. It contained only one handwritten sentence:
YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT YOUR MOTHER DID BEFORE YOU WERE BORN.
