Chapter 7
Dad wanted to meet Martin’s daughter without telling anyone.
I told him to call Ms. Price.
“She doesn’t trust lawyers,” he said.
“She’s offering evidence about Mom’s case. You don’t get to handle that alone.”
He was quiet.
“I know,” he said at last.
Martin’s daughter was named Sophie. She had found documents while helping her father clear his office. She contacted Dad because his name appeared in Evelyn’s letters.
Ms. Price arranged a meeting at her office. Sophie came carrying a slim folder and looking as nervous as I felt.
“I didn’t know about Elena until last week,” she said. “My father told me he and Evelyn had a business dispute. The papers tell a different story.”
Elena sat beside me. Dad sat across the room.
Sophie laid out copies of transfer instructions and letters. One showed Martin asking Evelyn to move company money before a lender reviewed their accounts. Another showed Evelyn suggesting they put the transfers under Elena’s login.
Sophie looked at my mother.
“I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t do this,” Elena said. “Thank you for bringing it.”
Then Sophie turned to Dad.
“There’s a statement in here from you.”
He held still.
I looked up.
Dad had written to Evelyn shortly before the trial. He said Elena had not been in the office on one of the days the disputed records showed her using the account.
“You knew the date was wrong,” I said.
“I remembered after I testified.”
“But before the verdict.”
“Yes.”
The room went silent.
Dad’s eyes met mine. “I told Mom.”
“And she told you not to say anything?”
“She said the records had been entered later. She told me speaking up would make me look unreliable and might not help Elena.”
“So you stayed quiet.”
“I did.”
Elena stood. I had not seen her look at Dad directly since the first night.
“I asked you about that date,” she said.
“I know.”
“You said you couldn’t remember.”
“I lied.”
She turned away. Ms. Price asked whether she wanted a break. Elena nodded and stepped into the hall.
I followed her.
She stood beside the window, breathing slowly. When she saw me, she wiped her eyes.
“You don’t have to stay for this,” she said.
“I want to.”
“He was afraid of losing you. I understand that fear. I can’t understand letting them convict me.”
“Neither can I.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
“I don’t want you to feel you have to stop loving him because of me.”
“I don’t know how I feel about him right now.”
“That’s allowed.”
We went back inside.
Ms. Price asked Dad to tell the account of that day from beginning to end. He did. He did not try to make it sound better. He agreed to give a statement to the people reviewing Elena’s conviction.
Sophie passed over the original papers she had brought. Ms. Price arranged for them to be preserved and copied. June’s notebook went with them.
When the meeting ended, Dad waited by the door.
“Grace, may I speak to you?”
“Outside.”
We walked into the parking lot. The morning sun hurt my eyes.
“I am sorry,” he said.
“You said that about the letters.”
“I’m sorry about those too.”
“I was eight when Mom went away. You had a chance to tell the truth before she was convicted. Then you had twenty-one years to tell me she was alive.”
“I know.”
I had waited my whole life for Dad to keep me safe. There he stood, finally telling the truth, and I did not feel safe with him.
“I need you to stop asking me to make this easier for you,” I said.
He nodded.
“Will you give your statement?”
“Yes.”
“Even if it costs you something?”
“Yes.”
I studied his face. I believed he meant it that day. I would have to see whether he still meant it tomorrow.
For the next several weeks, Elena’s lawyer worked through the new evidence. An investigator took statements from June, Sophie, Dad, and my mother. I answered questions about the letters and where I had found them.
Martin hired a lawyer. I saw his truck once near my library and went back inside until it passed. After I told Ms. Price, I never saw it there again.
Elena and I met every few days. Sometimes we spoke about the case. Sometimes we went grocery shopping. I learned she checked every carton of eggs before buying it. She learned I talked to myself when I was searching for my keys.
One evening, she asked if I wanted to see the letters she had kept copies of.
“I thought Dad had them all.”
“He had the ones I sent. I kept drafts of a few.”
She showed me a folder filled with pages in the same blue ink. I read until my eyes ached.
On the final page was a birthday message from the year I turned eighteen.
I hope one day I can tell you I’m proud of you while you’re standing in front of me, she had written.
May you like
I looked up.
She was standing in front of me now.
