“You Still Have It?”
Exactly one month after my mother’s funeral, Melissa called me.
I almost didn’t answer.
We hadn’t spoken much since the inheritance.
When I finally picked up, her voice sounded completely different.
She wasn’t laughing.
She wasn’t angry.
She sounded nervous.
“Do you still have Mom’s suitcase?”
I froze.
“Yes.”
There was silence.
Then she asked:
“Can I have it?”
I actually laughed.
“You mean the ugly old suitcase you called junk?”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“You said it was worthless.”
“I know.”
“Then why do you want it?”
Her breathing became heavier.
“I need to see what’s inside.”
My stomach tightened.
“You already know what’s inside.”
“No,” she whispered.
“You don’t.”
I stood up.
“Melissa, what are you talking about?”
She hesitated.
Then she said something that made my entire body go cold.
“Mom never told you the whole story.”
I looked toward the bedroom.
The suitcase was still sitting beside my bed.
“What story?”
“I can’t explain over the phone.”
“Then explain now.”
She was silent for several seconds.
Finally she said:
“Please don’t show Robert anything yet.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why?”
“Because if he finds out what’s in that suitcase…”
She stopped.
“Melissa?”
Her voice dropped to almost a whisper.
“He could lose everything.”
Then the call ended.
I stood there staring at the phone.
For the first time, I understood.
My mother hadn’t given me the suitcase because she had forgotten to give me something valuable.
She had given it to me…
because I was the only person she trusted with the truth.
