Chapter 4 - MY FIANCÉE’S MOTHER MADE IT WORSELenora Sterling arrived an hour later.
Unlike her daughter, she came prepared for battle.
Her attorney was beside her.
So was a public relations consultant.
I met them at the front entrance.
“My mother’s house is not a boardroom.”
Lenora looked past me.
“I need to speak with Elaine.”
“No attorneys.”
Her lawyer started objecting.
I closed the door in his face.
Lenora stared at me.
“You cannot behave like this.”
“It’s my house.”
“You are emotionally compromised.”
“My mother has a fractured hip.”
“A hairline fracture.”
I smiled.
That was the moment whatever respect I had left for her disappeared.
Camille came into the foyer.
“Mom, stop.”
Lenora turned.
“You have said enough.”
“No. I haven’t said enough for eighteen years.”
Lenora went pale.
Mom appeared from the kitchen.
The four of us sat in the living room.
Lenora refused coffee.
Mom offered anyway.
That was my mother.
Someone could insult her and five minutes later she would still worry whether they were thirsty.
Camille placed the lighter on the coffee table.
Lenora recognized it.
Her eyes closed.
“Oh, God.”
“So you knew?” I asked.
“I knew the lighter disappeared that night.”
“Did you know Camille started the fire?”
Lenora stared at her daughter.
Camille answered.
“She knew three days later.”
I looked at Lenora.
“You knew?”
Lenora straightened.
“Camille was a child.”
My laugh was sharp.
“That argument belongs to my mother.”
Lenora ignored me.
“Our family was already under significant scrutiny that summer.”
“Meaning?”
“My husband was considering a Senate campaign.”
There it was.
Reputation.
Not safety.
Not truth.
Politics and society.
Lenora continued.
“A scandal involving underage drinking and a house fire would have become disastrous.”
“So you let my mother take the blame.”
“I did not ask Elaine to confess.”
“You blacklisted her afterward.”
“I warned households that there had been an incident.”
“You told people she was irresponsible.”
“I told them there had been a fire while she was employed.”
Mom finally spoke.
“You told Mrs. Whitcomb I had stolen jewelry.”
Lenora stopped.
I looked at her.
“Is that true?”
“It was a difficult period.”
“Is it true?”
She sighed.
“There were rumors.”
“Started by you.”
She didn’t answer.
My childhood rose inside me like heat.
The motel room.
The nights Mom skipped dinner.
The winter coat she refused to replace because mine had become too small.
I stood.
Lenora watched me carefully.
I had negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions with people who tried to intimidate me.
None of them had ever made me as angry as the woman sitting on my couch.
“My mother went into a burning building and pulled your daughter out.”
Lenora looked uncomfortable.
“She did.”
“Then she protected Camille.”
“Yes.”
“And your response was to make sure she couldn’t get another job.”
“I was protecting my family.”
“No. You were protecting your name.”
“That was part of protecting my family.”
My mother said, “Lenora.”
Everyone looked at her.
“I didn’t come here for money.”
Lenora’s face tightened.
“I never said you did.”
“You brought a lawyer.”
Silence.
Mom smiled faintly.
“You always were transparent when you were scared.”
Lenora actually looked embarrassed.
Mom continued.
“I’m not suing you.”
“Elaine—” I started.
She held up one hand.
“This is my decision.”
Then she turned toward Camille.
“But I’m not pretending last night didn’t happen.”
Camille nodded.
Mom asked, “Why did you drag me?”
Camille swallowed.
“Because I thought you were there to expose me.”
“Why didn’t you simply ask?”
Camille looked at Lenora.
Then at me.
“Because in my family, when we got scared, we removed the problem.”
That sentence changed something.
Not forgiveness.
Understanding.
Camille had inherited a method.
Embarrassment appeared—hide it.
Poor person appeared—remove them.
Truth appeared—control it.
My mother had raised me differently.
When fear entered our house, we talked.
When we were broke, she told me.
When my father died, she never pretended he was coming back.
We had almost nothing.
But we had truth.
Camille had grown up with everything except that.
Lenora stood.
“This discussion is becoming theatrical.”
“No,” Camille said.
Her voice had changed.
“It’s becoming accurate.”
Lenora stared at her daughter.
Camille removed the engagement ring I had given her.
She held it in her palm.
Then she looked at me.
“You don’t need to end this.”
“I already did.”
She flinched.
“I know.”
She placed the ring on the table.
Then she looked at her mother.
“And I’m done letting you decide which truths our family can survive.”
Lenora’s face hardened.
“You have no idea what you’re throwing away.”
Camille glanced toward my mother.
“Yes.”
May you like
She said it quietly.
“I finally do.”
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