“Under his instructions.”
Adele’s voice went flat. “So he knew.”
“Yes.”
Jeremiah leaned back. “Maybe this was Dad’s way of saying sorry.”
“Dad wrote that every month?”
Chanel looked at him. “He could have said it.”
Adele nodded. “And sorry doesn’t need a hiding place.”
“No,” I said. “But guilt usually does.”
Then Jeremiah picked up his phone.
“What are you doing?”
“Checking the senior golf club.”
He turned the screen toward us. “Friday night. Dad’s award dinner.”
“What are you doing?”
Chanel laughed once.
Adele tapped Walter’s letter. “He doesn’t get to stand there and make himself the hero.”
I read the last line again.
“If I ever try to call it generosity, don’t let me.”
Adele grabbed my arm. “Your surgery is next week.”
“And I’m not going into it with his story sitting on my chest.”
Jeremiah held up the folder. “Then we go together.”
