Chương 11
“Tonight you need sleep.”
“I’m not going to sleep.”
“Probably not.”
“Then why wait?”
“Because we are angry.”
“So?”
“So angry people make stupid decisions and call them decisive.”
I looked down at Noah.
He was still asleep.
His mouth had fallen open slightly.
I adjusted the blanket around him.
“What if she forged it?”
Grandpa’s expression tightened.
“We do not know that.”
“What if she tricked me?”
“That is possible.”
“What if I signed it without reading it?”
“That is also possible.”
“Does that make it legal?”
“I don’t know.”
“You have a lawyer.”
“He will know more than I do.”
“So call him.”
“Tomorrow.”
I stared at him.
“You were ready to drag me back there an hour ago.”
“Yes.”
“And now you’re calm?”
“No.”
He looked toward the grocery store.
“I am trying very hard not to become the kind of man who mistakes anger for usefulness.”
The sentence stayed with me.
I hated that it made sense.
We drove the rest of the way without speaking.
At Grandpa’s house, I carried Noah inside and changed him on the bed in the old sewing room.
He woke fully this time and stared at me with dark, serious eyes.
I kissed his forehead.
“You have terrible timing.”
He sneezed.
“That was rude.”
From the kitchen, Grandpa called, “Coffee?”
“It’s almost nine.”
“That wasn’t my question.”
I almost smiled.
“Tea.”
He made tea badly.
Too much water.
Not enough time.
Grandma used to accuse him of frightening the leaves instead of steeping them.
I sat at the kitchen table while he searched a drawer for sugar.
My phone buzzed again.
This time it was Lauren.
I considered ignoring it.
Then I opened the message.
Did Dad tell you?
I typed, About what?
The reply came immediately.
The power of attorney.
My heart sped up.
How do you know about it?
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Returned.
Mom asked me to witness your signature.
I stared at the screen.
Another message arrived.
But I didn’t.
Then another.
She got someone else.
For several seconds, I could only stare at Lauren’s last message.
Grandpa set a mug of tea in front of me and stopped when he saw my face.
“What?”
I turned the phone toward him.
He read the messages once.
Then again.
“Call her.”
I did.
Lauren answered in a whisper.
“Are you alone?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Grandpa there?”
“Yes.”
“I figured.”
“Who witnessed it?”
“I don’t know.”
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean Mom asked me first.”
“When?”
“October.”
I gripped the edge of the table.
“What exactly did she ask?”
“She said she needed someone to witness you signing some financial paperwork.”
“And you said no?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Lauren was quiet.
Then she said, “Because you were upstairs asleep.”
The kitchen seemed to tilt.
Grandpa pulled out the chair across from me and sat.
I put the call on speaker.
Lauren continued.
“Mom came into my room with papers and said she needed me to sign as a witness.”
“But you hadn’t seen me sign.”
“Right.”
“What did you say?”
“I said that.”
Her voice sounded small.
“I told her I couldn’t witness something I didn’t witness.”
“What did she do?”
“She got mad.”
“How mad?”
“Mom mad.”
Under different circumstances, I might have laughed.
Instead, I said, “Lauren.”
“She told me I was being dramatic and that you had signed everything downstairs earlier.”
“Did I?”
“I don’t know.”
“You just said I was asleep.”
“At that moment, yes.”
She took a breath.
“She said you signed before going upstairs.”
“Did you see the signature?”
“I saw one.”
My stomach tightened.
“Did it look like mine?”
“I don’t know.”
“You know my signature.”
“Not well enough to swear to it.”
Grandpa leaned toward the phone.
“Lauren, who else was in the house that night?”
She went silent.
“Your father?”
“Yes.”
“Anyone else?”
“I think Aunt Carol stopped by.”
I closed my eyes.
Mom’s older sister.
Carol lived twenty minutes away and had spent most of my life acting as if rules were suggestions written for people with less confidence.
“What time?”
“I don’t remember.”
“Before or after your mother asked you to witness the document?”
“After, maybe.”
Grandpa’s expression darkened.
“Did Carol go into the dining room?”
“I think so.”
“Did you see her sign anything?”
“No.”
I asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Lauren answered too quickly.
“Tell you what?”
“That Mom asked you to witness something you didn’t see.”
“I didn’t know what the paperwork was.”
“You knew it was mine.”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t think that was weird?”
She snapped, “Everything was weird then.”
I flinched.
She heard it.
Her voice softened a little.
“You were eight months pregnant.”
“Being pregnant did not make me incapable of understanding paperwork.”
“I didn’t say it did.”
“You all acted like it did.”
“I know.”
The admission stopped me.
Lauren rarely gave ground without trying to take something else.
She continued.
“I thought Mom was doing one of her paperwork things.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know.”
“No, apparently I don’t.”
Lauren sighed.
“She organizes everything.”
“That is not the same as asking you to witness a signature you did not see.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew it then.”
“Yes.”
The answer was sharp.
Then came silence.
Grandpa folded his hands on the table.
“Why did you refuse?”
Lauren did not answer for a moment.
Finally, she said, “Because I didn’t want my name on something that could come back on me.”
There it was.
Not morality.
Self-protection.
Strangely, that made me believe her more.
“Did Mom find someone else that night?”
“I think so.”
“Carol?”
“Probably.”
“Probably is not enough.”
“I know.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Can you ask Aunt Carol?”
Lauren laughed once.
“You can.”
“I’m not calling her at nine-thirty.”
“Then don’t.”
“You brought this up.”
“Because Dad told me he told you.”
I looked at Grandpa.
“What else do you know?”
Lauren hesitated.
May you like
“Mom has a copy.”
“Of the power of attorney?”
