Chapter 10: The Last Morning in Maui
I texted Linda on Sunday afternoon.
*Can we meet?
Just the two of us.
Tomorrow morning, before the others are up.*
She replied within minutes.
*Yes.
The coffee place by the pool.
Seven o'clock.*
She was already there when I arrived, both hands wrapped around a mug, her eyes carrying the particular tiredness of someone who had not slept well.
"Thank you for coming," I said.
"Of course." She looked at me directly.
"How bad is it?"
I sat down across from her.
"Bad enough that I need to ask you something that may be difficult."
"Ask me."
"The phone call you overheard.
Jessica saying the account was set up and I wouldn't find out until it was too late.
Would you be willing to put that in writing?
A formal statement to my attorney?"
Linda set her mug down.
"You're involving lawyers."
"I already have been," I said.
"Linda, I want to be honest with you.
This is beyond a family argument about a vacation.
There are financial irregularities.
There is a forged signature on an insurance document.
My attorney is filing reports tomorrow morning."
Linda's face went through several things in quick succession.
"Forged," she said.
"Yes."
"Jessica forged your signature."
"That is what the evidence indicates."
She was quiet for a long moment.
A bird landed on the railing beside us and then left.
"She is my daughter," Linda said finally.
"I know."
"And I love her.
Whatever she has done, I love her."
"I'm not asking you to stop loving her," I said.
"I'm asking you to tell the truth about what you heard."
Linda looked out at the pool, the palm trees, the slice of ocean beyond.
"When she was seventeen," Linda said slowly, "she took money from my purse.
Not once.
For about six months.
Small amounts.
I noticed but I didn't say anything because I didn't want to believe it." She paused.
"I should have said something then."
I waited.
"Yes," Linda said.
"I'll give your attorney a statement."
I reached across the table and put my hand over hers briefly.
"Thank you."
"Does Kevin know everything?"
"He knows most of it.
He's been trying to process it."
"He's a good man," Linda said.
"He really is.
He just — he's never known how to stand up to her.
Even I don't know how to stand up to her." She looked at me.
"You're the first person I've ever seen actually do it."
I thought about the airport.
The thin smile.
*Not anymore.*
"She caught me off guard," I said.
"That won't happen again."
We sat together for another hour.
Linda told me things about Jessica's financial habits going back years — a pattern of small appropriations, covered tracks, plausible explanations.
Nothing criminal until now, or nothing provable.
But a pattern.
By the time we walked back to our respective rooms, I had everything Carol needed.
Kevin called at noon.
"Mom.
She knows something is wrong.
She won't say what, but she's been on her phone all morning and she's — she's not herself."
"Kevin.
Take the children to the dolphin encounter this afternoon.
Whatever happens, make sure Tyler and Emma have that."
"Mom, what's going to happen?"
"Carol is filing reports tomorrow morning.
After that, things will move quickly.
I need you to be somewhere with witnesses when they do."
A pause.
"Is she going to be arrested?"
"I don't know yet.
That depends on what the investigators find and how quickly."
"Mom." His voice broke slightly.
"I'm sorry I didn't stop her at the airport.
I'm sorry I didn't see any of this.
I'm sorry I looked at you like—"
"Kevin.
Stop."
"I need to say it."
"You can say it when we're in the same room," I said.
"Right now I need you to take your children to see dolphins.
Can you do that?"
A shaky exhale.
"Yeah," he said.
"Yeah, I can do that."
"Good.
I love you."
"I love you too, Mom."
I ended the call and stood at the window for a long time.
Then I went down to the beach, took off my shoes, and walked along the water's edge for an hour.
The sand was warm.
The ocean was enormous and indifferent and beautiful.
I thought about forty years of cardiology.
About the hearts I had fought for.
About the fact that the human heart is remarkably resilient — that it can sustain enormous damage and still, with the right intervention, find its rhythm again.
I thought about Kevin at seven years old, standing in the kitchen doorway in his pajamas, asking me why I was still awake.
*I'm just thinking, baby.
Go back to sleep.*
*Are you sad?*
*A little.
But I'll be all right.*
*Promise?*
*Promise.*
I picked up a small stone from the waterline and held it in my palm.
Then I set it back down gently and walked back to the hotel.
Tomorrow, Carol would file her reports.
May you like
Tomorrow, everything would begin to move.
Tonight, I ordered room service, watched the sun go down for the third time from my lanai, and slept better than I had in months.
