Chapter 12 - Katherine Finally Told Clara the Truth
Seven months after Easter, Clara saw Katherine at Dad’s house.
Not planned.
Dad was having a small birthday lunch.
I had asked whether Katherine would attend.
He said no.
Then she arrived early to drop off a gift.
Clara froze.
Katherine froze too.
I moved between them instinctively.
Katherine lifted both hands.
“I’m leaving.”
Good.
No approach.
No demand.
Then Clara said:
“Aunt Katherine?”
Katherine stopped.
“Yes?”
“Why did you push me?”
The question hung there.
Katherine looked at me.
I didn’t answer for her.
She crouched several feet away.
“Because I was angry about things that had nothing to do with you.”
Clara frowned.
“You said I was dirty.”
“I did.”
“I wasn’t.”
“No.”
“Was the chair yours?”
Katherine’s eyes filled.
“No.”
“Then why?”
Five-year-olds do not accept corporate language.
Katherine had no place to hide.
She said:
“It was Grandma’s old chair, and I was upset because I missed her and because I was angry about money.”
Clara looked confused.
“What money?”
“Grown-up money.”
“Did I take it?”
Katherine started crying.
“No.”
“Did Mommy?”
“No.”
“Then you were wrong.”
“Yes.”
Perfect.
Then Clara asked:
“Are you still mean?”
Katherine almost laughed through tears.
“Sometimes.”
I appreciated that more than some grand promise.
Then:
“I’m trying not to be.”
Clara looked at me.
“Can she stay for cake?”
I hesitated.
“This is Grandpa’s birthday.”
Clara shrugged.
“I know.”
I looked at Katherine.
“No touching Clara unless she asks.”
“Of course.”
“No money talk.”
“Fine.”
“No arguing with me.”
She almost smiled.
“I’ll try.”
“Wrong answer.”
“Okay. I won’t.”
She stayed.
Twenty minutes.
Then left.
No hug.
No forgiveness scene.
But when she reached the door, Clara waved.
Katherine waved back.
Dad watched from the dining room.
Later he whispered:
“Thank you.”
I looked at him.
“That wasn’t for you.”
He nodded.
“I know.”
Good.
Then he handed me something.
Mom’s second orchid necklace.
The one meant for Katherine.
“She hasn’t taken it.”
“Why?”
“She says she doesn’t deserve it.”
That angered me.
“Mom didn’t leave it as a prize for good behavior.”
Dad looked surprised.
“She should have it.”
“I told her.”
“Tell her again.”
He smiled faintly.
“You sound like your mother.”
May you like
For years, that sentence would have felt sentimental.
Now it felt like responsibility.
