It’s been over a week since the incident in the arena parking garage.
Tonight the Icehawks play their last regular season game. If they win, they make the playoffs. The stakes are high, and coming off two straight losses doesn’t necessarily inspire confidence.
The few times I’ve seen Drakos since our little hugfest, one of us has gone the other way. We’re both good at avoidance, for which I’m thrilled. I can’t explain my lapse in judgment, and I’d rather not try. I’m angry I turned to him in a moment of weakness. It will not happen again, no matter how good it felt.
Noah’s at school. I’ve finished my work for the day, and my neighbor will pick him up after school and bring him home. She’ll also watch him while I’m at the game. I’m not looking forward to going there. I’ve always been the bold, fearless type, but this time, I don’t feel so bold.
Bored, I look through the stack of mail on the counter and open up an envelope addressed to my sister. It’s a bill for a mailbox I didn’t know she had at the place on the corner. I stare at it long and hard.
It’s time to dig deeper into my sister’s life. I’ve been putting it off for too long. I guess I held out hope my parents would step up and handle her estate and leave me out of it. They didn’t. I understand she owns a large house in Vegas and has investments. All of which should go to Noah and be used for his future.
This secret mailbox is one more piece of a puzzle I haven’t started putting together yet. It’s past time. Three months have gone by, and it’s time to figure things out. The pain of losing Anna is still strong, and I think of her every day, but I have to do this for Noah.
Gathering up a few things, I slip out the door and drive the two blocks to the mailbox store. I enter and go to the counter. A woman studies me with suspicion. I’m guessing that’s her normal approach to anyone.
I present her with the bill and my sister’s death certificate along with my ID, then explain my situation. She listens with a degree of skepticism before answering. “Are you going to pay for her mailbox? It’s past due.”
“Yes, how much?”
“Two hundred and thirty-six fifty.”
I choke, shocked at the price.
“She had a large mailbox.”
“Okay.” I pay the bill, and she produces a box of mail along with a key. “Her mail’s been stacking up, and the mailbox is full.”
“I can imagine.”
I fill another box with what’s crammed in the mailbox, load them in my car, and hurry home where I begin to sort through one box.
The vast majority is junk mail but not all. I find an overdue notice for a storage unit along with multiple Visa bills with my name on them but her mailbox address. I stare at one of the envelopes for a long time, confused and perhaps dreading what I might find. Anna had money. She was a well-respected teacher and researcher at the University of Nevada in Vegas with a doctorate in quantitative biology and bioinformatics, whatever that is. She’d taken a six-month sabbatical, needing some downtime, and had come to Portland to hang with me. If only she’d stayed in Vegas, she’d have never gotten in that accident. Things could’ve been so different for her and Noah and me.
And now she’s gone. Our parents’ pride and joy. Ms. Perfect who never screws up, not like baby sister who’s one disaster after another.
Okay, she screwed up once. Drakos. But even her screwups have good outcomes because Noah came out of it.
Taking a deep breath, I tear open the envelope and pull out the contents. “Past due” is stamped on the statement in dark red along with a letter threatening collection, and it’s addressed to me, not Anna. I stare at the balance on the account in horror. Thirty-five thousand dollars and twenty-six cents. It can’t be. There has to be a mistake. Someone stole my identity and did this, and that someone cannot be my sister. I look back at the list of charges. All of them were before her death and at places she frequented. I recall her shopping sprees but thought nothing of it. After all, Anna was wealthy, or so I thought.
After a call to Visa, I’m even more confused and disturbed. Why would my sister do this? Reluctantly, I call my mother. She answers on the sixth ring, just as I’m about to give up.
“Hi, Aria.” Her tone is cold and laced with annoyance at being interrupted. Nothing new here.
“Hi, Mom. I—I have something odd I want to talk to you about.” I rush on, quickly telling her about the secret mailbox and the maxed-out credit card in my name. She doesn’t respond for a long time.
“Aria, why do you feel the need to slander your sister’s name?”
“I’m not.”
“There’s a reasonable explanation for this, but Anna certainly didn’t steal your identity. Why would she? She had plenty of assets of her own. Way more than you. You’ve obviously been careless with your identity, and now you’re blaming your dead sister who can’t defend herself. Shame on you.”
“But Mom—” Arguing is pointless, but I try anyway.
“Is that all you need? I’m not interested in your crusade to sully your sister’s good name just because you’re jealous.”
“I’m not. I’m?—”
“Aria, I have to go.” She ends the call before I can say another word. I should’ve predicted her reaction. Anna could do no wrong in our mother’s eyes, and my dad is even worse.
