I called Carol again the following morning.
I had the folder open on the table, but I kept my eyes on the phone instead of the papers.
I did not want to read my questions to her like a prepared statement.
I wanted to speak plainly.
When she answered, I told her I was ready to talk whenever she had time.
She suggested we speak later that day.
I agreed.
After we hung up, I put the phone down and looked at the list I had made.
There were four questions at the top.
I had spent days moving them around, crossing out assumptions, and trying to make them clearer.
Now I wondered whether I had made the whole thing more complicated than it needed to be.
I folded the paper once and slipped it into the folder.
I could ask the questions without reading them word for word.
The important thing was to remember what I was trying to learn.
I spent the morning doing ordinary things.
I washed the dishes.
I cleared the kitchen table.
I put away a few papers that had nothing to do with the settlement.
Each task gave my hands something to do while my thoughts kept returning to the conversation ahead.
I was not afraid of Carol.
At least, I did not think fear was the right word.
I was afraid of hearing something that would make me realize how little I understood about my own past.
I was also afraid of hearing nothing useful at all.
Both possibilities made me uneasy.
By the time we spoke again, I had stopped trying to guess which one was more likely.
I sat at the table with the tin beside me.
The folder was closed.
I wanted the letter nearby, but I did not want it lying open between us as if it already proved something.
When Carol began speaking, her voice sounded much the same as it had before.
She asked how I had been.
I told her I had been thinking about the settlement and reviewing what I could remember.
“Have you found any of the original papers?”
“No. I've looked through what I have, but I haven't found anything that explains it.”
“Do you have any idea where the papers might be?”
“Not yet.”
I waited a moment.
“I wanted to ask you about the questions you raised last time.”
“All right.”
“When you asked about the attorney and the insurance company, I realized I couldn't answer either question. Why did those details matter to you?”
Carol paused.
I could hear a faint sound on her end of the line, then silence.
“They matter because they would help establish what happened,” she said.
“That makes sense. But why did you ask me specifically?”
“I wanted to understand how much of the settlement you knew about.”
I looked at the paper beside me.
It was the answer I had expected in one sense, but it did not explain everything.
“Were you surprised that I knew so little?”
“Yes,” she said.
Her answer was direct.
I waited for her to explain, but she did not continue.
“Why?”
“I thought you might have kept more of the paperwork.”
“I may have. I just haven't found it.”
“That could be.”
I tried to keep my voice steady.
“Does the fact that I don't remember much tell you anything about what happened?”
“Not by itself.”
I appreciated that answer.
It was the first time since finding the letter that I felt someone was drawing the same line I had been trying to draw between a question and a conclusion.
I continued.
“When you read my mother's letter, you stopped at Wayne's name.”
“Yes.”
“What did you recognize?”
Carol did not answer immediately.
I felt my fingers tighten around the edge of the table.
I made myself relax them.
“I recognized the name,” she said finally.
“From where?”
“I can't tell you that with confidence yet.”
I looked toward the tin.
I had been waiting for a clearer answer, but I knew I could not force one out of her.
“Does that mean you remember Wayne?”
“I remember seeing the name before. I don't want to tell you more than that until I'm sure I'm remembering correctly.”
I took a slow breath.
“So you aren't saying Wayne was involved in the settlement.”
“No. I'm not saying that.”
Her answer removed one possibility I had been trying not to assume.
It did not explain why the name was familiar to her.
But it mattered that she had drawn the distinction clearly.
I wrote a short note on the paper.
Carol recognized the name but could not yet explain where.
I made sure not to write anything beyond that.
“Did my mother ever talk to you about the settlement?” I asked.
“Not in a way I can clearly remember.”
“Did she ever mention Wayne?”
“I can't say that she did.”
I looked at my notes again.
There was no accusation in those answers.
There was also no clear explanation.
For the first time, I could accept both facts without trying to make them fit together.
“Then what do you think I should do next?” I asked.
“I think you should keep looking for the settlement papers. If you find them, we can work from what they actually say.”
“And if I don't?”
“Then we'll have to consider what other information is available.”
I appreciated that she had not promised the papers would turn up.
I also appreciated that she had not told me to stop looking.
I asked whether there was anything else in my mother's letter that I should be paying attention to.
Carol said she did not want to interpret the letter for me.
“If you want to understand what your mother meant, we need to be careful not to put words into her message.”
I looked at the tin again.
“That is what I've been trying to do.”
“I know.”
Her response was quiet.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then I asked the question that had been bothering me since our first conversation.
“When you said you needed to be careful about what you told me, what did you mean?”
Carol took a breath.
“I meant that I don't want to give you a memory as though it were a fact.”
I sat back.
I had expected something more complicated.
Perhaps that was because I had spent too much time imagining what she might be holding back.
“You're worried you might remember something incorrectly?”
“Yes.”
I looked at the list beside me.
That was a reasonable concern.
I had been trying to separate my memories from my assumptions for days.
Carol was telling me she wanted to do the same thing.
“I understand,” I said.
We spoke a little longer about the papers I had checked and the questions I still needed answered.
She did not offer a new explanation for Wayne's name.
She did not claim to know why my mother had left the letter.
When we finished, I thanked her for speaking with me.
After the call ended, I remained seated.
I had wanted a breakthrough.
Instead, I had received a few clear boundaries around what Carol knew and what she did not.
At first, that felt disappointing.
Then I read my notes.
Carol recognized Wayne's name.
She could not confidently identify where she had seen it.
She did not remember my mother clearly discussing the settlement.
She believed the original paperwork would be the best place to begin.
Those were not answers to every question.
They were still useful.
I placed the notes inside the folder.
Then I closed it and rested my hands on the table.
I had asked Carol what she knew.
She had told me what she could honestly say.
For now, that was enough.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: I Went Back Through the Papers With a Different Purpose and Stopped Treating Every Empty Space as a Clue
I Thought My Mother Had Left Me Nothing but Old Memories Until a Small Tin Forced Me to Question Everything I Believed
Part 17 of 20
