Chapter 4 - TYLER’S MONEY
Michael sat down in the hospital hallway.
For several seconds, he stared at his hands.
“Tyler has money.”
I frowned.
“What?”
“From Jason.”
Jason was Michael’s older brother.
Tyler’s father.
He died in a warehouse accident four years earlier.
Sarah always said Jason left nothing but debt.
That story was why Tyler moved in with us.
Why I bought his clothes.
Why I paid for school supplies.
Why Michael said his mother was overwhelmed.
“What money?”
I asked.
Michael rubbed his face.
“The settlement.”
My skin went cold.
“What settlement?”
“Jason’s employer settled a wrongful-death claim.”
“How much?”
Michael hesitated.
“About seven hundred thousand.”
I stared at him.
“Seven hundred thousand dollars?”
“Most went into a protected account for Tyler.”
“Who controls it?”
He did not answer.
I already knew.
“Sarah.”
“Yes.”
I laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“So while I’ve been paying for Tyler’s sneakers, school trips, clothes, food, and tablet…”
Michael lowered his head.
“Mom was supposed to reimburse us.”
“Supposed to?”
“She said the account was tied up.”
“And you believed her?”
“At first.”
“How long have you known that wasn’t true?”
Michael looked at me.
“Six months.”
I stepped backward.
“Six months?”
“I saw a statement at her old apartment.”
“What did it say?”
“There were withdrawals.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t look?”
“I asked her.”
“And she said?”
“That she used money for Tyler.”
I pointed toward the hospital room.
“Tyler lives with us.”
“I know.”
“We pay for everything.”
“I know.”
My anger rose.
“So where did the money go?”
Michael shook his head.
“I don’t know.”
There it was again.
I don’t know.
The phrase men use when they could have known but preferred peace.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because Mom said she would put it back.”
I stared at him.
“Put what back?”
Michael’s eyes filled.
“I saw one withdrawal for forty thousand dollars.”
I stopped breathing.
“For what?”
“She said medical bills.”
“Whose?”
He did not answer.
“Michael.”
“Hers.”
The hallway became silent.
Sarah’s gallbladder procedure.
Her specialists.
Her prescriptions.
Her supplements.
Her endless appointments.
Some paid by my business insurance.
Some, apparently, by a dead man’s son.
I sat down.
“This is why she treats Tyler like royalty.”
Michael looked confused.
“What?”
“She isn’t loving him.”
I said.
“She is protecting her access to him.”
His face changed.
Before he could answer, Tyler’s social worker stepped into the hallway.
“Mr. Mitchell?”
Michael stood.
“Yes?”
“Tyler would like to speak with both of you.”
We entered a small consultation room.
Tyler sat beside the social worker.
His eyes were swollen.
He looked nine years older than he had that morning.
“I’m sorry.”
He said.
I crouched.
“For what?”
“For Olivia.”
“You did nothing.”
He started crying.
“I did.”
“What?”
“Grandma makes me tell her when Olivia does bad stuff.”
My stomach tightened.
“What bad stuff?”
“If she cries.”
“If she takes snacks.”
“If she goes in my room.”
I looked at Michael.
Tyler continued.
“Grandma says I have to help her make a list.”
“What list?”
May you like
His answer changed the entire case.
“The list that proves you’re a bad mom.”
