Chapter 13 - He Always Does
Dad was waiting for me when I got to the shop. I hadn't warned him I was coming. The email from Diane was open on my phone, and I was afraid if I drove home first, I'd persuade myself that making him uncomfortable was worse than knowing what he'd signed.
"Lauren sent me this," I said, holding out the screen. "Did you agree to sell the building?"
He adjusted his glasses and read the message twice. "I didn't sign a sale agreement."
"That's not what I asked."
"I told Diane that if the supplier won a judgment, I might have to consider selling my share of the property. She took that and made a promise to the supplier."
"Did you correct her?"
"Not until Victor saw the email last week."
"Did you tell Ruth?"
He shook his head. I couldn't stand the way he looked at the floor, as though guilt itself were an answer.
"There's a difference between being trapped and saying yes every time somebody points toward a trap," I said.
Dad's head lifted. "You think I don't know what I've done?"
"I think you keep asking me to know it for you."
He sat on a stool beside the workbench. The hands that used to build dollhouses and repair everything broken in our childhood kitchen lay open on his knees. I wanted to sit next to him. I wanted him to fix things the way he used to. I didn't do either.
"Your mother came to me in August," he said. "Lauren's subcontractor was threatening to walk. Diane said the venue would open in September if I guaranteed the equipment. I knew it was risky. I signed anyway. Then every month there was a new excuse. I couldn't bear to admit I'd made the mistake. So I kept helping her hide it."
"And you let her call me a thief because it might get you forty-six thousand dollars."
"Yes."
There was no justification attached. That frightened me more than an excuse would have, because I had to accept that he understood and had chosen it anyway.
"What are you doing today?" I asked.
"Victor is sending a correction to the supplier. I have a meeting with Ruth and the accountant. We're discussing whether a payment plan can protect the jobs while we settle the guarantee."
"Good."
"Emily, I can't ask you to forgive me."
"You can ask. I can say not yet."
His eyes filled. He nodded.
Before I left, Ruth came out of the finishing room with a stack of measurements. She didn't ask what Dad and I had argued about. Instead she told him a customer needed a revised installation date and waited until he looked at the calendar. "I can tell them the real date," she said, "or you can promise Friday and make everybody miserable on Sunday." He chose the real date. It was a tiny exchange, and I knew it couldn't settle a guarantee or repair our childhood. Still, seeing him practice an honest answer when the stakes were small made his larger promises easier to measure. I thanked Ruth for letting the truth be an ordinary part of her workday. She shrugged. "It's cheaper than redoing cabinets," she said.
I left and drove to the pantry. Tessa and Noel had invited an outside accountant, Priyanka Desai, to review the restricted-account transactions and determine how much had gone to legitimate food purchases versus venue expenses. The board had also placed Diane on temporary administrative leave from her presidency during the review, subject to its governing rules. She could contest the process. She could no longer initiate payments while doing so.
"She says you're behind it," Tessa told me.
"I know."
"That doesn't mean we're changing the review."
Mrs. Alvarez was already loading dry groceries into the van. I worked beside her until the stack of boxes reached the door. A family at our third stop was embarrassed to take a second delivery after receiving an emergency voucher the previous week. Mrs. Alvarez explained that the voucher was immediate help, not a debt. The father accepted the groceries, then offered to carry a heavy box out to the van for our next stop.
"You don't have to," I said.
"I know," he replied. "I want to."
I thought about that on the drive back. People could give without being forced to. They could refuse without becoming villains. My family had trained me to see every offer as the beginning of a transaction whose real price would be announced later.
Tessa called after lunch. The event organizer had located records showing that some supplies ordered through the Juniper Room were stored in a rented warehouse. There might be unopened, shelf-stable food originally purchased for the benefit, along with nonfood event supplies. The pantry needed to establish ownership before collecting anything.
"Can you help us inventory it?" she asked. "We have permission to inspect with the warehouse manager."
I met Tessa, Noel, and Priyanka at an industrial park beside the highway. The manager opened a roll-up door and showed us pallets marked JUNIPER EVENT. We counted sealed cases of crackers, canned fruit, and shelf-stable milk. A separate pallet held table runners and battery-powered candles. There were also cases of frozen meals, but the warehouse records did not clearly establish that they had remained at safe temperatures during a power outage.
"Don't distribute the frozen food," Priyanka said. "We need a qualified person to assess that."
Tessa nodded. "We'll stick to the sealed dry goods after we verify the invoices."
The inventory was less dramatic than finding cash hidden under a floorboard. It was also useful. The receipts could show what had actually been purchased, while the dry goods could potentially fill boxes that were still waiting to be delivered.
The warehouse manager handed Priyanka a folder of signed delivery tickets. One was marked PICKUP AUTHORIZED: DIANE MERCER. The proposed collection date was the next morning.
"She still thinks she can take the stock," Noel said.
Tessa took a photograph of the ticket. "Then we're going to tell her the inventory is under review and nobody moves it without proper authorization."
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My phone rang before we reached the parking lot. It was Mom. I didn't answer. She left a voicemail telling me to meet her at Bright Table's emergency board session the following evening.
"You wanted everybody to look at the records?" she said. "Fine. Come watch what happens when they finally look at yours."
