Chapter 6 - My Father’s Rank Was the Least Important Thing About Him
Margaret learned who Dad was that evening.
Not from him.
From Aaron.
They were arguing in the kitchen when I heard her say:
“Why is he acting like he owns the country?”
Aaron snapped:
“Because he’s General Robert Hayes.”
Silence.
Then:
“What?”
“Four-star. United States Army.”
Margaret walked into the living room differently after that.
Straighter.
Quieter.
Suddenly polite.
“General Hayes.”
Dad looked up from Caleb’s bottle.
“Robert is fine.”
“I had no idea.”
“I noticed.”
She laughed nervously.
“You should have said something.”
Dad’s expression did not change.
“Why?”
That ended it.
His rank should not have determined whether she treated me decently.
That was one of the few moments in the entire mess that made me smile.
Later, Dad and I sat outside.
“You’re not going to… do anything because of your position, are you?”
He looked offended.
“Elena.”
“I had to ask.”
“I’m your father in this.”
Not a general.
Not an institution.
My father.
That mattered.
Then he said:
“You’re coming home with me tonight.”
I almost laughed.
“That sounds like an order.”
He caught himself.
Then smiled.
“Would you like to stay with me and your mother for a while?”
“Better.”
My parents lived outside Alexandria.
My mother, Susan, was overseas visiting my younger brother’s family but would return in two weeks.
I agreed.
Not because Dad told me to.
Because Margaret’s house no longer felt safe.
When I packed, I found something in Caleb’s diaper bag.
A second set of house keys.
Our old house.
I stared at them.
Aaron had told me locks were changed during renovation.
Apparently not.
The next day, accompanied appropriately, I went to see the property.
No construction.
No torn walls.
No mold remediation.
A corporate relocation company had furnished it beautifully.
A couple from Boston was living in my bedroom.
They had no idea.
They showed me their lease.
Landlord:
M&B Residential Holdings.
Signed by Margaret.
Rent prepaid for six months.
Then I noticed one room was locked.
My old home office.
The tenants said the landlord told them it contained “owner storage.”
Margaret had kept something there.
When access was arranged legally, I found boxes.
Not furniture.
Documents.
Bank statements.
Loan applications.
Old household mail.
Including letters addressed to me that I had never seen.
And one envelope from the Department of Veterans Affairs.
Not for Dad.
May you like
For Aaron.
My husband had apparently applied for a federal benefit using a military connection I did not know he claimed to have.
