Chapter 4 - The Story Diane Had Built Around Me
I went home Sunday afternoon.
Not because Diane ordered me to.
Because I wanted to hear what she would say before she knew everything I had already learned.
The graduation decorations were still in the backyard.
Someone had thrown the smashed cake away.
My medal was still around my neck.
I hadn’t realized I was wearing it until Diane stared at it.
“Take that off.”
I stopped.
“Why?”
She closed her eyes.
“I can’t look at it right now.”
“That sounds like your problem.”
She flinched.
For once, Logan wasn’t there to laugh.
I sat across from her at the kitchen island where she had packed my school lunches for twelve years.
Diane told me Rebecca was nineteen when she became pregnant.
The father disappeared before I was born.
After a difficult delivery, Rebecca was prescribed pain medication.
What began legally became dependence.
Then addiction.
There were missed appointments.
Eviction notices.
One night Rebecca left six-month-old me with Diane and disappeared for four days.
Diane and Mark stepped in.
Temporary guardianship became permanent care.
Rebecca entered treatment.
Relapsed.
Entered treatment again.
Eventually, when I was almost three, she consented to Diane and Mark adopting me.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We were going to.”
“When?”
“When you were old enough.”
“I’m twenty-four.”
Diane looked down.
“You were happy.”
“That’s your explanation?”
“I was your mother.”
“You were my mother because you raised me. Telling me where I came from wouldn't have erased that.”
“You don’t understand what Rebecca was like.”
“Then help me understand why you told everyone she was dead.”
Her face tightened.
“I didn’t tell everyone that.”
“Aunt Karen believed it.”
“Karen believes whatever makes things simple.”
I nearly stood up.
Then I saw something on the refrigerator.
A magnet holding Logan’s new-car insurance quote.
The date was three weeks earlier.
The car had been planned before my graduation.
That shouldn’t have mattered.
But suddenly everything mattered.
“Why did Logan know?”
Diane froze.
“He found paperwork years ago.”
“And you made him promise.”
“Yes.”
“What did you promise him?”
Her eyes sharpened.
“Nothing.”
I thought about the car.
The condo.
The endless financial rescue.
Then the diploma folder.
“Why did you give me Rebecca’s graduation folder?”
“I didn't realize that envelope was inside.”
“But you recognized it immediately.”
She looked away.
There it was again.
A partial truth.
“What was in the envelope?”
“You saw the photograph.”
“What else?”
Diane didn’t answer.
I had only pulled the photograph halfway out at the party.
In the chaos, I hadn’t fully inspected the envelope.
I opened it now.
Behind the photograph was a folded letter.
May you like
The first line was written in blue ink.
Claire, if you’re reading this on graduation day, then Diane finally kept one promise to me.
