I stared at her.
“What?”
“Twenty-five years ago. The money from Grandpa’s safe.”
“Everyone said Mom stole it.”
Susan looked ashamed.
“That’s what we let everyone believe.”
My voice rose.
“You knew she was innocent?”
“I knew enough that we should have asked more questions.”
“Then who took it?”
Susan wouldn’t answer.
That evening, I drove directly to Mom’s house.
She put water on for tea, though neither of us drank any.
We sat on her couch.
“Mom, Aunt Susan told me.”
Mom’s face changed.
“She said you didn’t steal Grandpa’s money.”
She stared at her hands.
“Who did?”
“Emily, please.”
“You let everyone believe you were a thief for twenty-five years.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“I thought it would only be temporary.”
“What does that mean?”
She swallowed.
“The person I was protecting had children. If the truth came out, someone could have gone to prison.”
My chest tightened.
“You took the blame?”
“I knew your grandfather would never send me to prison. I was his daughter. I was raising you alone. You were only three.”
“Then why didn’t you tell the truth later?”
“I thought the truth would eventually come out on its own.”
It never did.
She had lost her family instead.
When I left Mom’s house, I knew two things.
My mother had sacrificed twenty-five years of her life to protect somebody.
And Grandma’s twelfth letter almost certainly contained the name.
The next evening, Uncle Robert called.
“Sweetheart, Susan told me you’ve been asking questions.”
“I have.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“I’m fine.”
“This whole thing is tearing everyone apart.”
I hesitated.
“There’s one letter left.”
Silence.
“Grandma wrote ‘Read This Last’ on it.”
Robert’s voice changed immediately.
“Emily, don’t open it.”
“Why?”
“Look what the other letters have already done.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Your mother is hurting again. Everyone is fighting. Nancy is gone.”
Then came the sentence I would remember later.
