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I nod my agreement. “It’s certainly possible.” And, based on how much we’ve found just by looking in three places, I’d hazard a guess that it’s probable.
“You’ve known about this the entire time.” It’s not a question.
I nod. “I would have told you sooner, but I wasn’t sure I could trust you at first. Or if you were even the right grandson. I should have said something right away, though.”
“You could have taken money anytime you wanted,” Van says softly.
“I would never do that.” I take a step back. “Bee trusted me, and I would never take what wasn’t mine.”
Van holds up a hand. “That’s not how I meant it. I’m not accusing you, Dillion. I’m just . . . I don’t know. I’m kind of blown away.” He runs a hand through his hair and grips it at the crown. “It’s kind of a mindfuck for me. You know?”
I drop my arms and nod, the tension in my shoulders easing. “Bee did so much for me. She helped me with college. I earned scholarships to pay for tuition, and Bee helped me apply for a bunch of grants so I wouldn’t end up with huge loans to pay back. She helped me with all of it.” I bite the inside of my cheek and decide to tell him the entire truth, even the things I’ve never shared with my own family. “But it was more than that, Van. She sent me money every month to help with groceries and stuff. She never said it was her, but once I asked my dad about it, thinking it was him, and he had no idea. So of course I asked Bee, right? Because who else would it be?”
“Let me guess—she wouldn’t admit it was her.” A hint of a smile pulls up the corner of his mouth.
“Nope. Gave me her big old innocent doe eyes and told me she didn’t know what I was talking about. She suggested that maybe there was a grant I applied for and didn’t realize I’d been awarded it, but it had to be her because there wasn’t anyone else who would do that for me.” I hold up a finger. “Wait. That’s not true. If my parents had the money, they would have given it to me, but it just wasn’t there. So I kept track of every single deposit she made, and when I finished school and got a job, I tried to pay her back, but she refused to take the money. It was so frustrating, because I wanted to give her back what I owed, but every time I tried, she’d find a way to give it right back to me, so when she needed someone to help with her will, I stepped up. She asked me to be the executor.”
“I wonder why she never asked me to do it.” The question is laced with threads of hurt.
“I know the answer to that. She was worried your dad would step in and try to take over. She knew that he hadn’t been smart with his finances after your mom passed. She’d even loaned him money a bunch of times to help with things, like your education.” It’s uncomfortable to tell him things like this. When I was young, I always felt like a bit of a voyeur when it came to Van and his family.
“I didn’t realize that. I mean, I guess it makes sense. I came out of college loan-free, but I assumed my parents had set money aside for it.”
“I think they had.”
“But my dad spent it.” Van drops his head and rubs the back of his neck.
I slip my arm around his waist and squeeze. “I’m sorry. This must be hard to hear.”
“It’s nothing I didn’t already suspect. I just didn’t realize it was this bad, or that my dad had been borrowing money from Grammy Bee.”
“I don’t know everything, Van, but I do know that Bee worried about what would happen to this place when she was gone, and she wanted you to have it because you valued it. So I went with her to Bernie’s, and I promised I would make sure it was you who got the cottage and the property. Bee treated me like I was one of her own, and to me she was family, so there’s no way I would ever touch what’s hers. Or what was hers. It was never mine to take.”
“You realize most people wouldn’t even think twice about skimming, even a little.”
“Oh, absolutely. But the thing is, when things got tight, I’d suddenly find money in my account that hadn’t been there. It’s like she knew before it even happened.” I pick another framed photo off the wall, this time one of Bee with her husband.
Van steps in closer, his chest brushing my shoulder. “This was taken on Grampy’s birthday. I think he turned sixty-five?”
