Chapter 3: The Letter Vanessa Wanted Buried
My mother's last letter.
The words followed me through the afternoon like a shadow.
I sat on my bed with the photograph in my lap while my father stood in the hallway, demanding that Vanessa explain herself.
"What letter?"" he asked.
Vanessa laughed.
It sounded brittle.
"Arthur, I don't know why you're making such a production out of this.""
"You just told me to ask Maya about a letter.""
"I said that because your daughter has a habit of hiding things.""
Dad's voice hardened.
"Then show me what she's hiding.""
Vanessa folded her arms.
"She took something that didn't belong to her.""
"What?""
"I don't remember the exact details.""
"You remember enough to accuse her.""
She turned toward the staircase.
"Perhaps we should speak downstairs.""
"No. We're speaking now.""
I crept toward my bedroom door.
My heart was pounding.
I had never heard my father speak to Vanessa like that. He sounded like the man who had negotiated million-dollar contracts and sent entire boardrooms into silence.
But Vanessa wasn't used to being the person under scrutiny.
She lifted her chin.
"Fine. Ask Maya about the letter.""
Dad looked toward my room.
"Maya?""
I stepped into the hallway.
Both adults turned.
Vanessa's expression softened instantly.
"There you are, sweetheart.""
I flinched.
She noticed.
Her mouth tightened for a fraction of a second before the sweet smile returned.
"Your father and I are trying to understand something. Perhaps you can help us.""
Dad moved toward me.
"You don't have to answer anything you're uncomfortable with.""
Vanessa gave a short laugh.
"Arthur, please. She's not on trial.""
I looked at my father.
"What letter?""
He knelt in front of me.
"Vanessa says you took a letter that belonged to your mother.""
My stomach twisted.
I remembered a white envelope.
I remembered my mother's handwriting.
And I remembered the night Vanessa found it.
I was nine years old, three months after Dad's wedding.
I had been searching through an old storage box for my mother's birthday cards when I found the envelope tucked inside the lining of a small wooden jewelry case.
My name was written across the front.
Maya.
The handwriting was unmistakable.
I had carried the letter to my bedroom and opened it beneath my blanket with a flashlight.
I didn't understand every word. My mother had written it before she became too ill to speak for long periods, and some of the sentences seemed unfinished.
But one line had made me cry.
My little star, if you ever feel alone, remember that love is not something you have to earn.
I had read it over and over.
Then Vanessa entered my room.
She saw the envelope.
She took it from my hands.
"What is this?""
I tried to grab it back.
"It's Mommy's letter!""
She read the first few lines.
Her expression changed.
Then she folded the paper, slipped it into her pocket, and looked down at me.
"Where did you find this?""
"In Mommy's jewelry box.""
"That box belongs to the family.""
"But the letter is for me!""
Vanessa crouched beside my bed.
"Listen carefully, Maya. Your mother wrote this before she died. She was very sick. People say all sorts of things when they're sick.""
I stared at her.
"She wrote my name.""
"And now it's gone.""
She stood and walked toward the door.
I followed her.
"Please give it back!""
She turned so suddenly that I stumbled.
"Do you want your father to think you're obsessed with the past?""
I stopped.
"Do you want him to worry about you again?""
I shook my head.
"Then you'll never mention this letter. Not to him. Not to anyone.""
She left.
The next morning, the jewelry box was gone.
For years, I thought the letter had been destroyed.
Now, standing in the hallway, I looked at Vanessa.
"You took it.""
Her smile vanished.
Dad turned toward her.
"You told me she stole it.""
Vanessa's cheeks flushed.
"I said she took something that didn't belong to her.""
"It had her name on it!""
"Arthur, you weren't there. You don't understand the circumstances.""
My father rose.
"Then explain them.""
Vanessa glanced at me.
For the first time, I understood why she had always seemed nervous whenever I mentioned my mother.
It wasn't because she was tired of hearing about the past.
It was because the past contained something she didn't want me to know.
"I found the letter," I said quietly.
"Mom wrote it to me.""
Dad looked at me.
"What did it say?""
"I don't remember all of it.""
That was partly true.
I remembered the sentence about love.
I remembered the smell of the old paper.
And I remembered one other thing.
A sentence near the bottom that I hadn't understood when I was nine.
If anything happens before I can explain, ask your father about the blue folder.
I had never known what the blue folder meant.
Vanessa had taken the letter before I could read the rest.
I looked at her now.
"Why did you take it?""
She stepped toward me.
"Because you were too young to understand what was written in it.""
Dad immediately moved between us.
"Stay away from her.""
Vanessa stopped.
For several seconds, the three of us stood in the hallway, listening to the grandfather clock downstairs.
Then Vanessa straightened her blouse.
"Very well," she said.
"If you want the truth, you'll have it.""
She turned and walked into the master bedroom.
My father followed.
I stayed near the doorway, unsure whether I was allowed to move.
A minute later, Vanessa returned carrying a small wooden jewelry box.
I recognized it immediately.
The brass clasp was scratched, and one corner had a tiny crack from when I had dropped it as a child.
She placed it on the hallway table.
"There," she said.
"The box. The letter is inside.""
My father opened it.
The velvet lining was empty.
He looked up.
"Where is the letter?""
Vanessa's lips parted.
Then she gave a small, incredulous laugh.
"I thought you said you wanted the truth.""
"I do.""
"Then perhaps you should ask Maya why she was so desperate to get her hands on her mother's belongings.""
Dad stared at her.
"You just said the letter was inside.""
"I was mistaken.""
"You expect me to believe that?""
"I expect you to stop treating me like a criminal.""
She grabbed the box from the table and slammed it shut.
The sound made me jump.
Then she pointed at me.
"This girl has spent three years trying to turn you against me. Every time I establish a rule, she runs to you with tears in her eyes. Every time I ask her to move forward, she drags her mother into the conversation.""
I looked down.
My father didn't.
"Enough.""
Vanessa ignored him.
"Do you know how humiliating it is to live in a house where your husband's dead wife is treated like a saint and you're treated like an intruder?""
Dad's face went pale.
"You knew I had a daughter when you married me.""
"Of course I did.""
"You knew she had lost her mother.""
"Yes.""
"And you promised me you would love her.""
Vanessa's eyes filled with tears.
"I tried!""
"No," he said.
"You tried to make her stop remembering the woman who gave birth to her.""
Vanessa slapped the jewelry box onto the table.
"Because nothing I did was ever enough! I gave her clothes, a room, a life most children would dream of, and all she ever wanted was her mother!""
I looked up at her.
"That's because I miss her.""
The words came out smaller than I intended.
Vanessa stared at me.
For one brief moment, something ugly flickered across her face.
Then she turned to my father.
"See? This is what I mean.""
Dad took my hand.
"We're done talking.""
He led me downstairs.
Vanessa remained at the top of the stairs, gripping the banister so tightly that her knuckles turned white.
At the bottom, Dad called for Mr. Lewis, our driver.
The older man appeared from the garage, removing his cap.
"Yes, sir?""
"Did you see what happened this morning?""
Mr. Lewis glanced at me.
Then he looked at my father.
"Yes, sir.""
"Tell me exactly what you saw.""
He swallowed.
"Mrs. Bennett pulled Miss Maya out of the vehicle by her hair. She fell onto the pavement.
Mrs. Bennett told her to walk to school.""
My father closed his eyes briefly.
"Did you try to stop her?""
"I did, sir.""
"What happened?""
Mr. Lewis's voice shook.
"She told me that if I interfered again, I would be dismissed. She said she'd make sure no one in this city hired me.""
My father turned toward the stairs.
Vanessa was listening.
"You're not dismissed, Mr. Lewis," he said.
"And no one in this house will threaten your job for telling the truth.""
The driver nodded, his eyes shining.
"Thank you, sir.""
Dad asked him to take me to the doctor later that afternoon. Then he sent me to the sitting room with Mrs. Collins while he made several calls.
I sat on the sofa beneath the large painting of a mountain lake.
The room looked different now.
I remembered Vanessa ordering the staff to remove every photograph of my mother from its walls. She had replaced them with abstract paintings and expensive sculptures.
But she had missed one thing.
Behind the curtains, a faint rectangle on the wallpaper showed where my mother's portrait had once hung.
I traced its outline with my fingertip.
Mrs. Collins sat beside me.
"Your mother would be proud of you," she whispered.
I swallowed.
"Did you know about the letter?""
Her eyes widened.
"What letter?""
"The one Mom wrote me.""
Mrs. Collins looked toward the staircase.
"No, sweetheart.""
I believed her.
Then she hesitated.
"But I remember something else.""
I turned.
"What?""
"About six months after your father married Mrs. Bennett, a package arrived from your mother's attorney. It was addressed to your father.""
My heart began to pound.
"What was in it?""
"I don't know. I was taking laundry upstairs when I heard Mrs. Bennett arguing with the attorney on the telephone.""
"What did she say?""
Mrs. Collins frowned, trying to remember.
"She said, 'Arthur must never see the blue folder.''"
The room seemed to tilt.
The blue folder.
My mother's letter.
The words from the page I had never been allowed to finish reading.
I grabbed Mrs. Collins's hand.
"Do you know where it is?""
She shook her head.
"No, darling. But I remember something strange. A few days later, Mrs. Bennett asked the gardener to unlock the old greenhouse.""
I stared at her.
"The greenhouse?""
"It had been closed since your mother died. Mrs. Bennett said she wanted to clean it out.""
I had almost forgotten the greenhouse.
It stood behind the rose garden, half hidden by ivy. My mother used to take me there on rainy afternoons, teaching me how to plant seeds in little clay pots.
After she died, Dad had locked it.
He said he couldn't bear to see it empty.
Vanessa had never allowed me inside.
I rose from the sofa.
"Where is the key?""
Mrs. Collins caught my wrist gently.
"Maya, please. Don't go looking for trouble.""
"I'm not looking for trouble.""
I thought about the letter.
About the blue folder.
About the way Vanessa had looked when my father demanded an explanation.
For the first time, I wondered whether my mother had left me something more important than a goodbye.
Something Vanessa had spent three years trying to hide.
"I just want to know what my mommy wrote.""
Mrs. Collins's eyes filled with tears.
Before she could answer, a sharp crash came from upstairs.
Then Vanessa screamed.
"ARTHUR! YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO OPEN THAT!""
My father shouted back.
"Then tell me why my daughter's name is on the documents inside!""
I froze.
Mrs. Collins stood abruptly.
We both looked toward the staircase.
A moment later, my father appeared at the top, holding a thick blue folder in one hand.
His face was ashen.
He looked directly at me.
"Maya," he said, his voice shaking.
"I need you to tell me something.""
I climbed the first step.
"What, Daddy?""
He opened the folder.
Inside was a photograph of my mother, a sealed envelope addressed to me, and a document bearing the signature of a lawyer I recognized from the few times he had visited our house.
My father stared at the first page.
Then he looked at Vanessa, who stood behind him with tears streaming down her face.
"Did you know," he asked me, "that your mother left instructions for me to protect something that belonged to you?""
I shook my head.
He looked down at the document again.
May you like
And then he read the sentence that changed everything.
*"In the event of my death, my daughter Maya Bennett must never be placed under the sole authority of Vanessa Reed.""*
