Chapter 16
Ava asked about Marcus again when she was six.
This time, she did not ask about cufflinks.
She asked why.
Dante had known the question would eventually change.
For two years, “Where’s Uncle Marcus?” had been answered simply.
He lived somewhere else.
He was not coming to dinner.
Grown-ups had made serious mistakes.
That had been enough for a four-year-old.
At six, it was not.
They were sitting at the smaller dining table when Ava said:
“Did Uncle Marcus steal my money?”
Dante stopped cutting his steak.
Mrs. Bennett looked toward him.
“How did you hear that?”
“Tyler said.”
Tyler was a cousin two years older who possessed just enough information to be dangerous.
“What exactly did he say?”
“That Mommy stole and Uncle Marcus stole too.”
Dante exhaled.
“No.”
“So Tyler lied?”
“He simplified.”
“What means?”
“He turned a complicated thing into something easier to say.”
Ava frowned.
“Did Mommy steal?”
“Yes.”
The word hurt.
Still necessary.
“Did Marcus?”
“He did not take money directly.”
“Then what?”
Dante had discussed this moment with Dr. Grant.
Facts.
No unnecessary detail.
No forcing Ava to emotionally organize adults before she understood them.
“He discovered Celeste was taking money from your trust.”
Ava stared.
“And?”
“He should have told the people responsible for protecting it.”
“Like you?”
“Yes.”
“Did he?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because he wanted something from Celeste.”
Ava became quiet.
“What?”
“Business access.”
“From my money?”
“From keeping quiet about what happened to your money.”
She looked disgusted.
“That’s stupid.”
“Yes.”
“Did he push me because money?”
“Because you were holding something that could expose what he had been hiding.”
“The shiny thing.”
“Yes.”
Ava looked toward Dante’s cuffs.
He rarely wore cufflinks to family dinners anymore.
Not deliberately, he told himself.
Probably deliberately, Claire had said.
“Did he say sorry?”
Dante remembered Marcus’s request.
If Ava ever asked about him, tell her I’m sorry for pushing her.
“Yes.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed.
“When?”
“He asked me to tell you if you ever wanted to know.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“You didn’t ask.”
“I asked where he was.”
“That is different.”
She thought.
Then:
“Can he tell me?”
Dante felt his answer rise.
No.
Not yet.
Maybe never.
He stopped it before it left his mouth.
“What do you mean?”
“Letter.”
That was manageable.
It still frightened him.
Dr. Grant helped create the boundaries.
Marcus could write once.
The letter would be reviewed first.
No excuses.
No requests for a visit.
No mention of family loyalty.
No promises.
No gifts.
Marcus wrote eleven sentences.
Ava,
When you were three, I pushed past you because I wanted the cufflink you were holding.
I knew about money being taken from your trust.
I should have told your father or the trustee.
Instead, I used what I knew to get business advantages for myself.
When you carried the cufflink into dinner, I became afraid my choices would be exposed.
I treated the object in your hand as more important than you.
That was wrong.
You did nothing wrong.
I am sorry.
Uncle Marcus.
Ava read with Dante beside her.
She stopped at:
I treated the object in your hand as more important than you.
“He knew I was kid.”
“Yes.”
“He still pushed.”
“Yes.”
“Did he want hurt?”
“I don’t think he wanted you injured.”
“That not same.”
Dante looked at her.
“No.”
She had learned that distinction without him teaching it.
Not wanting harm was different from accepting risk to get what you wanted.
Ava folded the letter.
“Do I answer?”
“You don’t have to.”
“Can I?”
“Yes.”
She took a pencil.
Then stopped.
“No.”
Dante waited.
“Not now.”
He nodded.
May you like
For two years, he had protected her future right to answer.
Now protecting it required letting silence count too.
