Free ( 2011) Cry For Justice by Ralph Zeta Page B

medical attention. And one day she wakes up and finds herself alone, betrayed, broke and about to join the ranks of the homeless. It’s too much for anyone to bear. I don’t think antidepressants would have helped her much; wouldn’t you agree?”
    “I can’t really answer that,” I mumbled, vowing to listen more and talk less.
    “Three days after the bastard disappeared she wrote me a short note apologizing for everything. She signed, ‘I am so sorry, baby. I always loved you so very much. Mom.’ She also said that Evan had duped her, that he was not the person he claimed to be. The note was left on her nightstand.” She tried to hold back tears. “My mother supposedly killed herself that night.” She opened her small black purse and pulled out a small tissue and dabbed at her eyes.
    “I can’t even begin to imagine how difficult this must be for you,” was my lame response.
    She nodded, took another sip of her iced tea, and gazed at me with red eyes. “Even though my mom and I were not that close, she was still my mother and I still loved her, so yes, it is very hard. The thing is, growing up, things were great. The way I remember it, we had a wonderful family life. I have great memories. I was a very lucky child.”
    She folded her hands on her lap and played with a small ring on her slender finger. I simply watched her in silence. She then raised her eyes and glanced emptily around the restaurant and said, “It all ended one Monday evening in late October. I was almost six years old. All I knew was that something very bad happened in my dad’s work. Then my dad started coming home late. He seemed preoccupied, I guess... sad, very tense, and irritable after that. For the first time, I heard my parents fighting and screaming. It was very strange for me. They had never fought before, at least, not in front of me. I knew then things were bad. I also knew they would get worse; I just didn’t know how much worse. Then, about two months later, it all came unraveled. My dad was arrested. It was all over the news and the newspapers.
    “Life changed completely after that. My mom became a pariah in her L.A. social circles. I became the subject of ridicule and jokes at school. My mom still had the house in Palm Beach, so we moved back here. She went by her maiden name, and she changed mine to hers so we wouldn’t have to endure the insults. We went to visit my dad in jail twice. The first time, I was almost ten years old. The second time I saw him, I was almost fifteen. His appeal was pending, and he had high hopes for an early release given that he cooperated with authorities and returned most of the money. He was turned down, and he knew then he would never leave that prison alive. By that time, my mother was dating men right and left. Drinking heavily, too.
    “Shortly thereafter, my mother was diagnosed with MS. She became even more irrational. I went to see my dad in prison. I was worried she would spend everything she had and we’d be in trouble. He told me not to worry. That’s when he told me he had put away what he called an ‘insurance policy’ in a safe place. For a rainy day. And that I was not to tell anyone about it, especially not my mom. He made me promise not to touch whatever it was under any circumstances unless it was an emergency. Or when I turned thirty. He asked me to promise, and I did. He told me this ‘insurance’ was hidden in the old family tapestry that hung over the main staircase of the house in Palm Beach. That it would be safe there. Then, when the time came, I should get it. I guess it was his way of providing for my future. That was the last time I saw him. He was who he was, I get that, but I know he loved me. I know he disappointed a lot of people, but he was still my father. He always brought me little presents from his business trips. Stuffed animals, things like that...” Her voice trailed off as she held back more tears.
    “Do you have any idea what it was that your