Chapter 7 - The Missing Piano
Rachel arrived just after midnight, dropped her suitcase in the hotel lobby, and held our children as if she could gather every lost hour back into her arms.
Neither child wanted to talk at first.
Then Max asked whether she knew why Grandma had tricked them.
Rachel took a breath.
“I know she made a choice that hurt you,” she said.
“And it was not your fault.”
Lily asked whether adults were allowed to make up rules just because they were older.
“No,” Rachel answered.
“And being an adult means admitting it when you've done something wrong.”
I watched Lily's shoulders relax for the first time in days.
After the children fell asleep, I showed Rachel Linda's note.
We checked my online order history.
The digital piano had shipped separately from the green duffel because its packaging was too large.
The retailer marked it delivered to Carol's home two weeks earlier.
Mom had offered to transport it to Denver as a surprise.
I had believed her.
Rachel pointed at the delivery photograph.
The box was leaning against the distinctive blue planter beside my mother's front door.
“Call the retailer,” she said.
The customer-service representative confirmed delivery, but couldn't tell us what happened afterward.
I called Mom.
She let it ring eight times before answering.
“Where is Lily's piano?”
“At home.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
“Because she hasn't earned it yet.”
My wife, standing beside me, heard every word.
“Carol,” Rachel said, “you don't get to decide whether our daughter earns a gift we purchased.”
Mom's voice sharpened.
“She'll appreciate it more when she learns that lesson.”
“You no longer get to teach her lessons,” Rachel replied.
Mom laughed once.
“That's cute, coming from someone who wasn't even here for Christmas.”
Rachel went still.
I took the phone.
“Do not speak to my wife that way.”
“This family was functioning before she arrived.”
“And it will function after we leave your house.”
Mom hung up.
At breakfast, Grandpa offered to drive with me to Carol's house when we returned to Chicago.
I told him I didn't want him caught in the middle.
He shook his head.
“There isn't a middle between telling the truth and hiding a child's piano.”
Then Linda called.
She said the green duffel was scheduled for return, but someone had tried to cancel the shipment overnight.
“Who?” I asked.
Linda sounded exhausted.
“Carol used my name.”
The cancellation hadn't succeeded.
But Linda had received another message, one she wanted me to hear in person.
“It isn't just your children's gifts,” she said.
“Then what is it?”
May you like
“Your mother told me she was collecting proof to make you look unfit.”
