Chapter 4 - The Door Brett Had Kept Closed
Colleen stayed with her friend Marsha for three nights.
Brett called every morning.
Colleen answered once.
Not because she wanted distance forever.
Because she needed to learn what Brett would do without his mother smoothing things over.
For years, she had been good at that.
When Dana criticized Brett at Thanksgiving, Colleen changed the subject.
When Brett arrived alone at family cookouts, claiming Dana was working, Colleen accepted the explanation.
When Dana stopped attending Christmas Eve because Colleen’s condo was “too cluttered,” Colleen told everyone Dana had a migraine.
Peace had become another word for silence.
On Friday, Brett met with the credit union.
Because the mortgage and equity line were jointly held, he couldn’t simply freeze Dana out of everything. But he could stop additional automatic transfers from their checking account, change passwords on his personal accounts, and require written notification on future loan activity.
He also contacted the accountant who prepared the couple’s taxes.
That decision cost him immediately.
Dana called Colleen that evening from an unfamiliar number.
“You finally got what you wanted.”
Colleen nearly hung up.
Instead she said, “What did I want?”
“My husband treating me like a criminal.”
“You assaulted me.”
“You went through my mail.”
“It was sitting on the table.”
“You always have an excuse.”
Colleen heard traffic behind Dana.
Then Dana said something stranger.
“You don’t know what he’s been doing.”
“Who?”
“Your son.”
The line disconnected.
Colleen stared at the phone.
The following morning Brett arrived at Marsha’s house with a cardboard storage box.
Inside were bank statements, tax folders, and household records he had removed from his home office.
“I’m staying at a hotel,” he said.
“Dana came back?”
“She’s allowed to be at the house. I don’t want to be there with her.”
Colleen looked at him carefully.
Not afraid exactly.
Avoidant.
In the box she noticed a printed calendar.
Several weeks had blocks marked in blue: St. Louis, Dallas, Minneapolis, Cleveland.
Business trips.
But beside many of them Brett had written small initials.
H.P.
Colleen tapped the page.
“What’s H.P.?”
Brett took the calendar from her too quickly.
“Nothing.”
Colleen knew her son.
He had used that same voice at seventeen when she found cigarettes in his truck.
She didn’t press.
Not yet.
But when Brett left, Marsha said quietly, “You know he’s scared of something.”
Colleen did.
May you like
The question was no longer only what Dana had been hiding.
It was why Brett had become so practiced at leaving home.
