Chapter 3 - The Paper Amy Signed
“I don’t know what she means.”
Amy’s voice shook.
I believed her.
That was what frightened me.
I locked the door.
Then I checked Frederick’s temperature again.
It had climbed to one hundred and two point eight.
Everything else could wait.
We packed a diaper bag and drove to urgent care.
The doctor examined Frederick and told us it appeared to be a viral infection.
His lungs were clear.
His oxygen level was normal.
We were told to keep him hydrated, control the fever as directed, and watch for warning signs.
Only when Frederick finally fell asleep against Amy did I ask about the paperwork.
She stared at the floor.
“Your mother brought papers over when Frederick was about three months old.”
“What kind of papers?”
“She said they were insurance forms.”
I felt sick.
“Did you read them?”
“I tried.”
Tears appeared in her eyes.
“She got angry.”
“Amy.”
“I was barely sleeping.”
She covered her face.
“Frederick had colic.”
“I remember.”
“You were working twelve-hour days.”
I closed my eyes.
Teresa had encouraged those hours.
She told me Amy needed financial stability more than she needed me hovering around the house.
Amy continued.
“Your mom said the documents allowed her to handle emergencies if we were both unavailable.”
“Did you sign?”
“One page.”
My pulse accelerated.
“Do you have a copy?”
“She said she would bring one.”
“Did she?”
“No.”
I wanted to punch a wall.
Instead, I reached for Amy’s hand.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
She pulled away.
“Because every time I tried to tell you something about your mother, you defended her.”
The sentence hurt because it was true.
“I thought Mom was helping.”
“I know.”
Amy looked at me.
“That was the problem.”
I sat in silence.
She had never demanded I choose between them.
She had simply stopped telling me things because she already knew who I would believe.
“I’m sorry.”
Amy’s eyes filled.
“I don’t need an apology tonight.”
“What do you need?”
“My husband.”
That almost broke me.
“I’m here.”
She shook her head.
“I need you to stay here when your mother starts crying tomorrow.”
I understood exactly what she meant.
Teresa would cry.
Then she would become sick.
Then relatives would call.
Then I would hear about everything she had sacrificed raising me.
For thirty-seven years, that sequence had worked.
Not this time.
When we returned home after midnight, I put Frederick in his crib.
Then I went into my office.
I logged into every bank account.
Nine months of transfers to Teresa appeared exactly where I expected.
Three thousand dollars.
Every month.
But something else was there.
Three inquiries on our home equity account.
I had never made them.
The most recent inquiry was only eleven days old.
I called the bank’s fraud line.
After verifying my identity, the representative became very careful with her words.
“Mr. Bradley, there is a pending application associated with your property.”
“What application?”
“A home equity line of credit.”
My mouth went dry.
“How much?”
“Eighty-five thousand dollars.”
I looked toward the hallway where Amy and Frederick were sleeping.
“Who submitted it?”
There was a pause.
“The application lists you and your wife.”
I whispered.
“We never applied.”
Another pause.
Then the representative said something worse.
May you like
“It also lists Teresa Bradley as an authorized financial representative.”
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