Part 3: The Loan

Lucy and Mateo postponed their honeymoon by one day so they could meet an attorney recommended by a friend. I offered to sit in the waiting room and left the decision to them. They chose to go alone.

The attorney explained that the proposed loan was secured against the bakery equipment and included a provision giving Richard approval over major business decisions. It was a proposal, not an agreement. Neither Lucy nor Mateo had signed it.

When they came out, Lucy looked embarrassed. “I thought he was offering a wedding gift.”

“He may think he is helping,” Mateo said, “but we don't have to accept those terms.”

They decided to ask for changes and look at other financing. I was glad they had independent advice. My experience planning operations did not make me an expert in commercial loans, and I did not want to replace my father's control with my own.

Before I returned to base, Lucy and I met at the small apartment she shared with Mateo. A cardboard box on the kitchen table contained recipe cards, a rolling pin, and a chipped blue bowl. Lucy said the bowl had belonged to our mother.

“I thought Dad sold it,” I said.

“He packed it away. I found it while I was clearing the office.”

We made biscuits from a recipe neither of us could read properly. Our mother had written half the measurements in a hurry, and the corner of the card was stained with vanilla. The first batch spread across the tray like a single enormous cookie.

Lucy laughed until she had to sit down. “You're supposed to be good at logistics.”

“I can move supplies across an ocean. Apparently I can't measure butter.”

The joke made room for a harder conversation. I asked whether she wanted to know what happened the night I left. She nodded, so I described the argument without making her choose a side.

Richard had wanted me to enter the family insurance firm. I had already accepted an Air Force commission after finishing college. He said I was throwing away security. I said the decision was mine. He told me not to come back unless I changed my mind. The next morning the lock had been changed.

“I should have found another way to reach you,” I said. “I let too much time pass.”

“You were twenty-two. I was fourteen.”

“Both things can be true.”

She touched the edge of the old envelope. “I believed he had reasons. Maybe he did. I still wish he'd let me decide whether to answer you.”

My phone rang as we cleaned the kitchen. It was Richard. I let it go to voicemail. He said he wanted to discuss the wedding and asked me to meet him alone.

Lucy watched me put the phone down. “You don't have to.”

“I know. I haven't decided.”

After I left, she sent a photograph of the second batch of biscuits. They were round, if uneven. Underneath she wrote, We found the right amount of butter. I smiled on the train, then listened to Richard's message again. This time I noticed the final sentence: “There are other things about that letter you don't know.”