Chapter 10 - BACK INSIDE MY FATHER'S HOUSE
Two days after the ceremony, my father asked to meet.
I refused.
Three hours later, he called Agent Kent and offered consent to search the house.
That surprised everyone.
Kent suspected he was trying to get ahead of a warrant.
Captain Price suspected he had finally become afraid of Linda.
Aunt Claire suspected both.
I did not care why he agreed.
I cared about my mother's letters.
If they were still in that house, I wanted them before anyone could make them disappear.
Kent allowed me to accompany investigators only to identify personal property.
I wore civilian clothes and a sling over my splint.
The drive through my old neighborhood felt unreal.
The houses looked smaller than I remembered.
The maple tree at the corner was gone.
A new family had painted the house across the street blue.
My father's house looked exactly the same.
That was somehow worse.
The brass numbers were crooked in the same direction.
Linda's ceramic flowerpots lined the steps.
A faded yellow ribbon still hung from the porch after one of my deployments, though Linda had once complained that it made the house look cheap.
My father opened the door before we knocked.
He looked as if he had aged ten years in two days.
His shirt was wrinkled.
His eyes were swollen.
There was a bruise near his jaw.
I noticed it immediately.
So did Kent.
“What happened to your face?”
Dad touched the bruise.
“Nothing.”
Kent's expression did not change.
“That looks like something.”
“I walked into a cabinet.”
I almost laughed.
It was Linda's favorite explanation.
Apparently cowardice had made my father predictable too.
Kent looked at me.
I said nothing.
My father stepped aside.
The house smelled like coffee and furniture polish.
The foyer still held a framed wedding photograph of Dad and Linda.
My mother's photograph had disappeared years ago.
I used to think that happened naturally when someone remarried.
Now I wondered how many pieces of her had been deliberately erased.
Two investigators began documenting the office.
Another photographed a locked cabinet in the den.
Dad gave them the key.
Inside were tax records, bank statements, old passports, and a fireproof document box.
Kent opened it with Dad's consent.
My mother's original death certificate lay on top.
Below it was an envelope labeled AVERY - TRUST.
Empty.
My father looked genuinely surprised.
“It was in there.”
“What was?” Kent asked.
“The paperwork.”
“What paperwork?”
“The trust papers.”
“When did you last see them?”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Months ago.”
“Before or after Linda learned Claire might speak with Avery?”
Dad looked at me.
I stared back.
“Before.”
Kent wrote it down.
I went upstairs with another agent to identify my belongings.
My old bedroom was exactly as I remembered from the last time Linda let me enter it.
Which meant it was no longer mine at all.
A gaming desk filled one wall.
Ethan's old sports trophies filled another.
The closet held boxes labeled TAX, CHRISTMAS, and COLLEGE.
I pointed to the top shelf.
“That box used to contain my mother's things.”
The agent pulled it down.
It was full of extension cords.
My stomach sank.
Then I noticed a second cardboard box shoved behind a plastic storage bin.
No label.
Dust on top.
The agent placed it on the bed and opened it.
Inside were my letters.
Dozens of them.
Not my mother's letters to me.
Mine to my father.
Letters I had mailed from basic training.
Letters from my first deployment.
Christmas cards.
A photograph of me at twenty wearing dusty body armor and squinting into desert sun.
Most of the envelopes had never been opened.
I touched one with my right hand.
The postmark was nine years old.
Dad had told me he read every letter.
I sat down on the edge of the bed.
The agent quietly stepped back.
There are betrayals that explode.
Then there are betrayals that whisper.
A sealed envelope can whisper louder than a scream.
I picked up another.
Unopened.
Another.
Unopened.
Then I found one that had been opened and resealed with clear tape.
The letter inside was not from me.
It was from Jonah Reed's mother.
My hands began to shake.
Mrs. Reed had written to my father after Night Lantern.
She thanked him for raising the soldier who stayed with her son when he died.
She wrote that I had called her from the hospital and told her Jonah had not been alone.
She said those words had saved her life.
At the bottom, she added a line in blue ink.
Avery may blame herself someday, so please remind her that Jonah chose who he was long before that night.
I read it three times.
Dad had never given it to me.
I carried the letter downstairs.
He was standing in the kitchen while Kent questioned him about account transfers.
I placed the letter on the table.
“Why did you keep this from me?”
He looked at it.
His face drained.
“I forgot.”
“No.”
“Avery.”
“No.”
I tapped the letter.
“You opened this.”
“I was dealing with a lot.”
“You kept it for eight years.”
“I did not mean to.”
“Then why was it hidden with my unopened mail?”
He had no answer.
Kent watched us silently.
I felt years of old anger rise.
“Did you read my letters?”
Dad looked away.
“Some.”
“Most of them are sealed.”
“I was busy.”
“You told me you kept them beside your bed.”
“I was trying to make you feel better.”
That sentence nearly made me lose control.
“You lied to make me feel better?”
“Avery, please.”
“You keep using that word like it erases what comes before it.”
He put both hands on the table.
“I was ashamed.”
“Of what?”
His eyes filled.
“Of you.”
The room went silent.
Even Kent looked surprised.
My father realized how the words sounded.
“No.”
He shook his head.
“That is not what I meant.”
I felt nothing.
Maybe that was worse than pain.
“What did you mean?”
“I was ashamed because you were doing something brave and I was here failing at everything.”
He looked toward the floor.
“Your mother was gone.”
“I was drowning in bills.”
“Linda kept telling me you thought you were better than us.”
“And you believed her.”
“I wanted to.”
That was the first honest sentence he had given me.
I sat back.
“Why?”
“Because if you were arrogant, then I did not have to admit you had become the person your mother believed you could be while I became someone she would not recognize.”
Claire, standing in the doorway, began to cry.
I did not.
Then a crash came from the garage.
Every investigator moved at once.
Kent drew her weapon.
An agent shouted for whoever was inside to show their hands.
My father went white.
“No one should be in there.”
The interior garage door was locked.
Kent ordered Dad back.
An agent opened it.
For three seconds, nothing happened.
Then Ethan bolted through the side door of the garage and into the backyard.
“Federal agent, stop!”
He ran.
An agent went after him.
Kent and another investigator entered the garage.
I stayed where I was until I heard Kent swear.
Then she called me in.
The garage smelled like gasoline.
A metal trash can stood near the workbench.
Inside it were burned papers.
Some were black ash.
Some had only burned around the edges.
Kent used tongs to lift one surviving sheet.
At the top, I could still read the words LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT.
The name beneath belonged to my mother.
My father made a sound behind me.
“You said Ethan did not know about the will,” Kent said.
Dad looked terrified.
“I didn't tell him.”
“Then who did?”
No one needed to answer.
We all knew.
May you like
Martin Voss.
