Chapter 3 - The Glass of Tea
Police collected the glass from our kitchen.
So did the hospital.
Not the same evidence chain, but samples were preserved.
My iced tea contained traces of the same class of prescription medication found in my blood.
The concentration in the glass alone was not enough to explain everything.
That suggested more than one exposure.
The mark on my neck mattered.
Someone had likely placed a medicated patch on my skin and also contaminated my drink.
That was what doctors believed.
Not certainty yet.
But enough.
Ray denied everything.
Mom denied everything.
Daniel said he saw nothing.
Caleb?
Police initially did not interview him without proper support.
He was ten.
Terrified.
That night, he stayed with Aunt Nicole.
I stayed in the hospital.
Mom was allowed one supervised visit.
I almost refused.
Then said yes.
She entered looking fifteen years older.
“Emma.”
“Did you put something in my tea?”
“No.”
Immediate.
“Did you put something on my neck?”
“No.”
“Did Ray?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did you know he had medicine like that?”
She looked down.
My heart sank.
“Mom.”
“He has back problems.”
“So?”
“Prescription pain medication.”
“You knew?”
“Yes.”
“How long?”
“Years.”
“Did you ever give me any?”
“No.”
I stared.
“The pills.”
Her face changed.
“What pills?”
“The calming tablets.”
“Oh.”
That one sound destroyed her denial.
“They weren’t the same thing.”
“What were they?”
“Something Ray said would help you relax.”
“Were they prescribed to me?”
“No.”
My chest tightened.
“You gave me medication that wasn’t mine?”
“Twice.”
“Why?”
“You were having one of your episodes.”
“My episodes.”
“Emma.”
“No. Say it.”
She wiped her eyes.
“You were screaming. Hyperventilating. Saying everyone hated you.”
I remembered.
One argument after graduation.
Ray told me Dad would be disgusted that I was “wasting my life.”
I cried.
Mom said I was spiraling.
Ray produced a tablet.
Mom told me it was natural.
I took it.
Then slept.
The second time happened after I told them I wanted access to my father’s accounts.
Another argument.
Another pill.
Another twelve hours gone.
My stomach turned.
“What exactly did Ray tell you it was?”
“A mild anti anxiety medication.”
“Then why did you call it herbal?”
Her eyes closed.
Because she knew I would refuse.
That was the answer.
“I thought you needed help.”
“No.”
“I was scared.”
“You drugged me.”
Her face collapsed.
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“How did you think of it?”
“I thought I was calming you down.”
“Without telling me.”
“Yes.”
I turned away.
“Get out.”
“Emma.”
“Get out.”
She stood.
At the door she said:
“I did not put anything in your tea tonight.”
I looked at her.
“I believe you.”
Relief crossed her face too quickly.
Then I continued:
“That doesn’t make what you admitted okay.”
She left crying.
Daniel entered ten minutes later.
He did not defend her.
Thank God.
He sat quietly.
Then said:
“There’s something you should know.”
“What?”
“Tomorrow morning you had an appointment.”
I frowned.
“What appointment?”
“With a lawyer.”
“I didn’t.”
“Yes, you did.”
Apparently a letter arrived three weeks earlier.
From Stonebridge Trust Company.
My father’s name.
Mom hid it?
Daniel said he found it inside Ray’s desk drawer in our basement office.
Why was Ray’s desk in our house?
He had been “helping Mom organize financial paperwork.”
The appointment was scheduled for tomorrow.
My eighteenth birthday had been six months ago.
Stonebridge wanted me to meet about a trust created by my father.
I stared.
“What trust?”
Daniel looked almost sick.
“Your mom says it’s complicated.”
“How much?”
“She won’t tell me.”
“Daniel.”
“I don’t know.”
He placed the unopened photocopy beside me.
At the bottom:
Beneficiary transition review.
Required attendee:
Emma Hayes.
Then another line:
Failure to complete personal competency acknowledgment may delay direct beneficiary authority.
Competency.
The word stuck.
My mother had called me dramatic for years.
Ray called me unstable.
Two times they had drugged me during arguments.
May you like
Now a trust company wanted to meet me about whether I could manage my own inheritance.
And I had nearly died the night before that meeting.
