Chapter 7: The Letters Hidden in the Attic
At 8:17 the next morning, Rochelle called me.
I watched her name flash across my phone while Devin sat at the kitchen table, eating neither his eggs nor the toast I'd made for him. The trust documents lay beside his graduation diploma, and the handwritten note from Marcus rested beneath a glass of water to keep the paper from curling.
Neither of us had slept well.
The night before, Devin had asked the same question three different ways.
What if his father had tried to contact him?
What if the letters had never reached him?
And what if the person who had spent years accusing me of keeping Marcus away had been the one standing between them?
I answered the call.
“Good morning, Rochelle.””
“Tasha, we need to talk.””
“About what?””
“Don't play games with me.””
I glanced at Devin.
He put down his fork.
“I'm listening,” I said.
“Alone.””
“No.””
A pause followed.
“Excuse me?””
“Whatever you have to say about Devin's father, you can say while Devin is present.””
“This is between you and me.””
“You made it everyone's business when you insulted me in my own home.””
Her breathing became sharper.
“I'm coming over.””
“That's your choice.””
I ended the call.
Devin stared at me.
“You think she's coming to explain?””
“I think she knows something.””
“Do you believe her?””
I looked at the stack of documents.
“I believe she knows more than she's told us.””
Twenty minutes later, the doorbell rang.
Rochelle stood on the porch without her usual designer handbag. She wore black trousers, a gray sweater, and no jewelry except her wedding ring. Her hair was still perfectly arranged, but her eyes were swollen.
She looked older than she had the night before.
When I opened the door, she glanced past me toward the kitchen.
“Is Devin here?””
“He's waiting.””
She stepped inside.
Devin remained seated at the table, his diploma beside him. He didn't stand to greet her.
Rochelle noticed.
“Good morning, sweetheart.””
“Good morning.””
She folded her hands.
“I owe you an apology.””
Devin studied her.
“For what?””
“For the things I said about your mother.””
“That would be a start.””
Rochelle's mouth tightened, but she nodded.
“I was cruel to her. I shouldn't have spoken to her that way, especially yesterday.””
“Why did you?””
She looked at me.
“Because I was angry.””
“At Mom?””
“At the situation.””
Devin leaned back in his chair.
“You keep making everything sound like something that happened to you.””
Rochelle flinched.
I hadn't expected him to say it so plainly.
He continued.
“You told everyone Mom was the reason Dad left. You told me his family was the only reason I had a chance. You made me feel like I owed people something just because they shared my last name.””
“I know.””
“Do you?””
Her eyes filled.
“Yes.””
He looked away.
“Then tell me about the letters.””
Rochelle sat down slowly.
For several seconds, she rubbed her palms together, staring at the table as if the wood might offer a way out.
“After Marcus left Atlanta, he stayed with a friend in Charlotte for a while,” she began.
“He was having financial problems. He had lost his job, and he was ashamed of how everything had turned out.””
“Why didn't he tell me?”” Devin asked.
“He thought he could fix things first.””
“That's what the letter said.””
Rochelle nodded.
“He called me regularly. At first, he asked about you. He wanted to know how you were doing at school, whether you were healthy, whether you still played basketball.””
Devin's face changed at the mention of basketball.
He had played from elementary school through his junior year, eventually giving it up when his grades and part-time job demanded too much time.
“Did he know I made the team?”” he asked.
“Yes.””
“Did he know I was the starting point guard?””
“Yes.””
“Did he know I stopped playing because I couldn't afford the travel fees?””
Rochelle looked down.
“I don't know.””
“You knew.””
She didn't answer.
Devin pushed his plate away.
“Keep going.””
Rochelle swallowed.
“Marcus sent letters. Some were for you. Some were for your mother.
He sent them to my address because he didn't trust himself to contact you directly. He was afraid that if you rejected him, he wouldn't be able to handle it.””
I stared at her.
“You received letters from Marcus?””
“Yes.””
“How many?””
She closed her eyes.
“I don't know exactly.””
“Rochelle.””
“More than a few.””
I felt a cold, familiar anger settle into my chest.
“Where are they?””
She looked at me.
“I kept them.””
“Where?””
“In my house.””
Devin stood so abruptly that his chair scraped the floor.
“You kept my letters?””
Rochelle raised both hands.
“I didn't know what to do with them.””
“You could have given them to me!””
“I know.””
“You could have called Mom!””
“I know!””
Her voice cracked.
For the first time since she'd arrived, Rochelle looked directly at her nephew without trying to control his reaction.
“I was wrong,” she whispered.
“I was terribly wrong.””
Devin walked to the window.
I wanted to comfort him, but I knew he needed room to process what he had just heard.
Rochelle wiped her face.
“Marcus was in a terrible place emotionally. He kept saying he wasn't ready to be a father again until he could provide for you. I believed him when he said he needed time.””
“Eight years?”” Devin asked without turning around.
“No amount of time would have been enough.””
“Then why didn't you tell him that?””
“Because I thought I was protecting you both.””
He turned around.
“From what? Each other?””
She nodded, tears sliding down her cheeks.
“At first, I thought if I held the letters until he was stable, you could receive them together. I thought he'd come home, apologize, and explain everything himself.””
“And when he didn't?””
“I kept waiting.””
Devin stared at her.
“That isn't protecting us. That's making a decision for us.””
“I know.””
“Did you read the letters?””
Rochelle hesitated.
“Yes.””
The room went still.
“How many?”” I asked.
“Some.””
“Rochelle, you don't get to choose which truths we hear anymore.””
She lowered her head.
“All of them.””
I gripped the edge of the counter.
“You read every letter?””
“Not every single one. But most of them.””
“And you still told us Marcus didn't care enough to contact us?””
Her face crumpled.
“I didn't know how to undo what I'd done.””
“So you kept doing it?””
She had no defense.
Devin walked back to the table and picked up his diploma.
“I need to ask you something.””
Rochelle nodded.
“Anything.””
“Did Dad ever say he wanted to stop being my father?””
“No.””
“Did he ever say he wanted you to keep me away from him?””
“No.””
“Did he ask you to tell me he didn't care?””
“No.””
Devin placed the diploma down carefully.
“Then you made me believe something that wasn't true.””
Rochelle covered her mouth.
“Yes.””
He looked at her for a long moment.
Then he said the words I knew she would remember for the rest of her life.
“You weren't protecting me from my father, Aunt Rochelle. You were protecting yourself from admitting you'd made a terrible mistake.””
She began to sob.
I felt no satisfaction.
There was no victory in seeing a woman cry over damage that had already been done.
There was only the knowledge that my son had spent years carrying a rejection that might never have been spoken.
“Where are the letters?”” Devin asked.
“In a box in my attic.””
“Can you get them?””
“Yes.””
“Today?””
Rochelle nodded.
“Today.””
She rose, but Devin stopped her.
“One more question.””
She turned.
“Why did you tell everyone last night that Dad's family was the only reason I had a chance?””
Rochelle's expression twisted.
“Because I wanted you to remember that we had helped your father before. I thought the trust would give our family a place in your future. I didn't want you to believe you could simply take the money and shut us out.””
I stared at her.
“So the insult was about the trust?””
“Not entirely.””
“What does that mean?””
She pressed her lips together.
“Marcus's attorney contacted me several weeks ago. He told me the documents would be delivered around your graduation. He said Devin would have the right to make his own decisions about the trust.””
Devin's face hardened.
“And you were afraid I wouldn't include you.””
“Yes.””
“So you tried to make Mom look like a failure before I found out.””
Rochelle looked at him helplessly.
“I didn't think it through.””
“You thought about it enough to bring your handbag and your attitude into our house.””
She recoiled as though he'd slapped her.
I stepped forward.
“Devin.””
He looked at me, then took a slow breath.
“I'm sorry, Mom. I'm not trying to be cruel.””
“I know.””
He turned back to Rochelle.
“Bring the letters. All of them. Don't remove anything, don't rearrange anything, and don't decide which ones I'm ready to read.””
“I won't.””
“And don't expect me to forgive you today.””
Rochelle nodded.
“I understand.””
She walked toward the door.
Before leaving, she turned to me.
“Tasha, I know you have every reason to hate me.””
“I don't hate you, Rochelle.””
She looked surprised.
“I don't have the energy to hate you,” I continued.
“But you need to understand something. My son is not a bargaining chip, and his future is not an invitation for you to control him.””
She lowered her eyes.
“I understand.””
When the door closed behind her, Devin sat down heavily.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Then he reached for the letter from his father and carefully placed it beside his diploma.
“I used to wonder whether Dad ever thought about me,” he said.
I sat beside him.
“He did.””
“That's not the same as showing up.””
“No,” I agreed.
“It isn't.””
He nodded, his eyes fixed on the papers.
“I want to read every letter.””
“We will.””
“And if he wrote something that hurts?””
I took his hand.
“Then we'll face it together.””
At 10:42, my phone vibrated.
A message from Rochelle.
*I'm at the house. I found the box. But Tasha, there's something inside it you need to see before Devin reads the letters.*
A second message arrived.
It was a photograph of a large manila envelope, yellowed at the edges, with my name written across the front.
Beneath it, Rochelle had typed six words.
*Marcus wrote this one to you.*
May you like
And suddenly, I understood that the missing years had not only taken something from my son.
They had taken something from me, too.
