39. Chapter 39
Grace
Nate’s office is all quiet swank and good taste.
The office manager, a slightly stooped middle-aged woman named Sasha, gives me a brief tour and we talk about the redesign Nate and Nick had commissioned when they first rented the suite.
I ask questions about Sasha’s history with the company, finding out that she’s been here since they acquired premises, and that many of the design choices were hers.
I’m interested in the subject, of course, but it also offers an excuse to get the full layout—down to where mail is stored.
After the tour, Sasha seats me opposite her desk in the reception area. There’s a pair of low, comfortable chairs here and a sofa that looks like it could fold out into a bed.
“I was so sorry,” she says, her tone shifting from officious to solicitous, “when Nick passed last month, Grace. He wasn’t here all that often, but he was always kind to me.”
I nod, my throat clenching unexpectedly at her words. I thought I’d become immune to grief. This is my opportunity to pursue what I’ve come here for.
“Thank you,” I say, letting some of my sorrow into my voice. “It was really hard, having him disappear. One minute, he was just out for a run, then—”
I cut myself off with a sigh. Sasha has worked with Nate long enough that I wonder if she’s too alert to emotional manipulation to take the bait. I scold myself inwardly, but I’ve come here for something specific—and this woman will lead me to it.
“It was shockingly sudden,” she says without melodrama. “I was so disturbed.”
“Yes. A whole life just—” I swipe my hand through the air. “So many things left undone. You’ll have felt some of that here. Little things Nick probably would have gotten to, but now…”
I sniff, though I’m not even close to crying. Sasha stays quiet behind her desk and I take a breath before getting to the heart of the matter.
“Did Nick,” I say, my voice low, “leave anything for me here? I know it’s unlikely, but were there any papers or—or letters he might have wanted me to have?”
She frowns slightly. “Well, there have been quite a few letters coming in for Nick, though we’ve gone ahead and notified all the relevant parties that he’s—of what happened.
” She corrects herself quickly. “I haven’t seen anything addressed to you, but would you like to see the envelopes I have in Nick’s name? ”
“I’d really appreciate it,” I say, keeping my voice level even as my heart rate spikes. “There are some matters we haven’t settled, and I do wonder if Nate might have missed some correspondence from Dunedin.”
Sasha stands up, waving me behind her desk. “Mr Hadley hasn’t actually gone through most of it, you know. I think it’s just been too painful, so I’ve been setting everything aside for the right moment.”
“I can go through everything in Nick’s name. That way, we can all move on.”
“Of course,” Sasha says, already handing over a thick manila folder.
I tuck it into my bag, stowing my surprise at how easy this was.
I chat with Sasha until a call comes in, distracting her.
I head to the bathroom off the little kitchen, where I tear into the manila folder.
Sasha has obviously filed the missives chronologically, and I flip the stack over, seeing Mother’s handwriting on the very top envelope, all loops and curls.
“Okay,” I breathe. I take a moment to remind myself that she’s an island away, that I’m healthy for the first time ever, and that neither she nor Nate can control what I do here and now.
I tear the big envelope open to find smaller envelopes inside.
I open the first and a densely-written letter falls into my lap alongside a thicker page.
Skimming the note, I find what Mother told me on the phone: a summary of Nate’s actions from her perspective, starting with the dates he filed the replacement will for Nick.
The thicker paper turns out to be an official application for a marriage licence application, stamped with a date that makes me stop breathing.
As I stare down at the damning date, a sticky note floats to the floor.
I pick it up. More of Mother’s writing: See, Graciously? He was planning on marrying you long before poor Nick’s death. That nasty man killed his twin and stole you away—all in one fell swoop.
“No,” I whisper, staring at the document, stamped exactly two months before Nick died. “He can’t have done this…”
I realise I’m crying, tears streaking down my face to land on the thick paper.
I wipe them away, shoving the document and the accompanying notes back into their envelope.
I take up the next one, which contains copies of Nick’s will—both the old one and the updated version.
Mother’s writing is thick across both papers, pointing out the differences between the two versions, each more incriminating than the last.
The next envelope includes a notice for insurance on our townhouse in Dunedin made in Nate’s name, with an addendum to show that Nick handed the policy to him a few months before his death.
I don’t need Mother’s sticky notes to understand the seriousness of what I’m holding: from the marriage license application, to the changing will, to this insurance document, the evidence points to Nate being positioned to benefit maximally from Nick’s death.
I sit on the closed lid of the toilet, breathing fast through my tears.
There are more envelopes, but I stuff the lot into my bag and try to breathe myself to a calmer state.
I’m tempted to run out to the main office, throw the papers in Nate’s face, and demand answers.
But I know what’ll happen if I take that route: he’ll offer me the same controlling comfort as always and I’ll sink right back into my current state, where he has all the knowledge and power, and I have nothing except what he gives me.
But this…
I stare at the sheaf of papers. This is Mother’s bid for control.
It would be stupid for me to trust it based on faith alone.
I have to verify her accusations—before talking to Nate.
I need to get to the root of everything because Mother’s version of Nate, so carefully curated with copies and sticky notes and scribbles, is nothing like the husband I’ve come to know.
A man who gave me a safe phrase that cuts him deeper than anything else.
A man who repaired every part of me he could while breaking me into a brand new shape.
A man who would never let me go if I told him I needed to go back, and confront Mother on my own.
I check myself in the mirror before digging into my bag for my phone.
It’s the work of a few seconds to book a ride to the airport and a plane ticket to Dunedin.
I don’t even need my passport. Then, for all of Nate’s care and planning and dominance, it’s absurdly easy to give his office manager a quiet smile as I slip away from the office, then out into the busy Auckland afternoon.
***
It’s early evening when I touch down in Dunedin. I feel Mother’s presence before I see her, a crawling sensation down my back—awareness and fear. She’s waiting for me just beyond the line for the baggage carousel, her hair thinner than ever, her liquid eyes wide.
“Graciously! Oh, God—GRACIOUSLY!”
Her shouts cause people to stare and I stand firm when she throws herself at me, trying to tuck me into a hug that doesn’t fit. She’s thinner, the weight loss clear as she grips me tight, pulling my head into a posture that hurts.
“Mother, stop,” I say, pivoting out of her grip. “You’re hurting me.”
She’s too busy making her own assessment to hear me. She cups my cheeks in her hands, then squeezes my shoulders, then—I try to step back—runs her palms down my waist.
“You’ve gained so much weight,” she says, grabbing at my newly-acquired curves.
Humiliation rushes down its familiar pathways, heating my cheeks as I suppress the urge to slap her away. I regret having her pick me up now, when her painful display has witnesses who’ll see nothing more than a loving mother greeting a wayward daughter. I want to get back on the plane.
“Mother, please,” I say, taking a long step back, trying to get some distance.
“Where’s the rest of your luggage? Never mind, lovey. I have plenty of things for you. We’ll go home and have a nice big dinner together. Then we can get you all settled so you can calm down. The things that terrible man must have done to you…”
She heads for the exit, still chattering. I follow, retrieving my phone from the bottom of my bag. Nate has called a number of times, and I feel something loosen in my chest at seeing his name on the call list. Mother leads me to her car, but I hesitate.
“How about we go to a café or something? I really need to get my head around those documents you sent to Auckland. Starting with how you got your hands on them.”
Mother peers at me over the hood of the car, eyes narrowing. “We don’t have to worry about any of that now you’re here, Graciously.” Her wide, self-satisfied smile makes me want to scream. “Let’s get you home and fed, then we can talk.”
She climbs into the car, making it clear that I’ll have to come with her if I want any answers.
“We’ll have a nice meal,” she says, “then we’ll figure out our next steps getting you back to where you should be.”
I subtly look at my phone, thumbing through a series of texts.
Grace, where are you?
Grace… little heart, where did you go?
Are you—did you leave Auckland?
Your location signal went dead at the airport, but I know where you're going.
Do you think I won’t follow? Because I fucking will.
I’m in the air, love.
Stay out of that house.
I love you.