“Don’t embarrass yourself in front of everybody, Claire.”
“You already did that for me.”
Silence fell heavier than the rain.
Carefully, I climbed down into the muddy edge of the grave and picked up the passbook. Dirt clung to the cover. It smelled like wet paper and earth.
I pressed it against my chest.
“It belonged to her,” I said. “Now it belongs to me.”
My father stepped closer until I could smell whiskey on his breath.
“Your grandmother couldn’t even save her own house. You think she saved you?”
Something inside me went cold.
Or maybe it finally caught fire.
I slipped the passbook into my purse and walked toward the cemetery gate.
Tyler blocked my path.
“Where are you going?”
I looked past the rusted gates toward the rainy street beyond.
“To the bank.”
They laughed while I walked away.
My father laughed louder than anyone.
But Mr. Bennett didn’t laugh.
He watched me like he had just seen someone strike a match beside gasoline.
An hour later I walked soaked into a downtown Chicago branch of Chase Bank.
The teller, a middle-aged woman named Linda, opened the passbook, read my full name, and immediately went pale.
Then she picked up the phone with trembling hands.
“Call the police,” she whispered to another employee. “And lock the front doors. The young woman cannot leave.”
The floor seemed to tilt beneath me.
I had no idea my life was about to split open…
YOUR GRANDMOTHER WASN’T WHO YOU THOUGHT SHE WAS.
