Chapter 11 - THANKSGIVING WAS NEVER ABOUT DOLLS
Claire obtained Franklin’s accounting two days later.
Deline had received more than two hundred thousand dollars above what Everett’s trust permitted.
The number looked unreal on paper.
$214,870.
The flower shop.
The cabin.
Emergency transfers.
Contractor payments.
A personal loan labeled temporary.
Nothing had been temporary.
Callum’s mother had repeatedly approved the distributions.
In several instances, Callum’s credentials appeared beside hers.
He disputed two.
He admitted three.
The rest were unclear.
For the first time, I began to see Thanksgiving differently.
Deline’s anger toward Renley had seemed absurdly intense over four wooden dolls.
But the dolls were never the real subject.
Deline had spent years living inside a family system where possession was negotiable if she wanted something badly enough.
Money.
Property.
Authority.
Attention.
Even another child’s toy.
When Renley said, “These are mine,” she had done something several adults in that family had forgotten how to do.
She had set a boundary.
Deline punished her for it.
That realization made my stomach turn.
On Friday afternoon, Renley came home from school carrying a paper snowflake.
She climbed onto a stool while I made cocoa.
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Are we going to Grandma’s for Christmas?”
The question hurt more than I expected.
“No.”
“Is Dad?”
I looked toward Callum’s closed office door.
“I don’t know.”
Renley traced the edge of the counter.
“Will Aunt Deline be there?”
“Yes.”
“Then I don’t want to go.”
“You don’t have to.”
She looked at me carefully.
“Can grown-ups say that too?”
“Yes.”
“Then why didn’t Dad?”
I had no answer simple enough for a seven-year-old.
Before I could try, Callum stepped into the kitchen.
He had heard her.
Renley looked at him.
For several seconds, father and daughter simply stared at each other.
Then Callum crouched beside her.
“Because Dad was scared of making Aunt Deline angry.”
Renley hugged Baxter tighter.
“Were you more scared of her than you were scared for me?”
Callum’s face broke.
I looked away.
“Yes,” he whispered.
“I’m sorry.”
Renley considered that.
Then she said, “You should fix that.”
Not me.
Not Thanksgiving.
Not Deline.
That.
Callum nodded.
“I should.”
The doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
This time, it was his mother.
May you like
And she was carrying another banker’s box.
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