Chương 9
Patrick sent another message.
Then Denise did.
Laura called twice.
Nobody mentioned the farm.
Nobody mentioned money.
At ten-oh-three, we pulled into the funeral home parking lot.
Patrick was waiting outside.
He stood beside his truck with his arms folded, no coat zipped despite the cold.
Daniel parked.
Neither of us got out immediately.
“You have the letters?”
“Yes.”
“The key?”
“Yes.”
“The copies?”
“In the bag.”
Daniel looked at me.
“You ready?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means if you said yes, I’d think you were losing your mind.”
We got out.
Patrick walked toward us.
His eyes went straight to Daniel’s canvas bag.
“You two disappear for nearly two hours the morning we’re burying Mom.”
“We’re not burying her today,” Daniel said.
“You know what I mean.”
“No, actually, I’m starting to think I don’t.”
Patrick stopped.
His expression changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Daniel looked at me.
Fiona’s warning moved through my mind.
Do not fight with them before you see what is there.
We had seen it.
But we still did not know all of it.
I said, “It means we’re tired.”
Patrick studied my face.
Then his gaze dropped to my purse.
“You find anything in Mom’s room?”
The question was too direct.
Daniel heard it too.
“What are you looking for, Pat?”
Patrick’s jaw tightened.
“Nothing.”
“Then why keep asking?”
“I told you, property records.”
“What property?”
Patrick looked toward the funeral home entrance.
Denise and Laura stood behind the glass doors watching us.
He lowered his voice.
“This is not the place.”
“Then where is?”
“Later.”
Daniel stepped closer.
“No.”
I touched his arm.
Patrick saw that.
His eyes shifted to me.
“Mabel, stay out of this.”
I almost laughed.
After twelve years, those four words landed harder than any accusation.
I opened my purse.
Daniel whispered, “Mabel.”
I took out a photocopy of Fiona’s promissory note.
Patrick saw the top line.
His face drained of color.
I held it between two fingers.
“Your mother made sure I couldn’t stay out of it.”
Patrick stared at the page.
Then he looked at me with something I had not expected.
Not anger.
Fear.
“Where did you get that?”
I folded it once.
“Why are you afraid of it?”
Behind him, the funeral home door opened.
Denise stepped outside.
“What is going on?”
Patrick did not turn around.
His eyes stayed on mine.
“Not here.”
Denise came closer.
“Patrick?”
He whispered, “Please.”
It was the first time I had ever heard him use that word with me.
I put the paper back in my purse.
“For Fiona’s sake, we handle the funeral first.”
Patrick swallowed.
Then he nodded.
As he turned toward the door, Denise caught his sleeve.
“What did she show you?”
“Nothing.”
“You look like you’re going to throw up.”
“I said nothing.”
Laura came outside too.
She wrapped her coat tighter around herself.
“Can everybody stop acting insane for ten minutes?”
Nobody answered.
We went inside together.
The funeral director began discussing flowers.
Patrick sat across from me.
For the next forty minutes, he barely looked at anyone.
But every time my hand moved toward my purse, his eyes followed it.
When the funeral director finally left the room to print the obituary draft, Denise shut the door behind him.
“No.”
Laura looked up from the tissue she had been folding into smaller and smaller squares.
“No what?”
“No more whispering.”
Denise pointed at Patrick.
“No more of whatever this is.”
Patrick stared at the carpet.
Daniel said, “Not here.”
“That is exactly what he said outside.”
Denise turned on him.
“And now you’re saying it too.”
Laura rubbed her forehead.
“Can we please not turn Mom’s funeral arrangements into some family courtroom?”
Denise ignored her.
“She showed him something.”
Her finger shifted toward me.
“I saw it.”
Patrick said, “Drop it.”
Denise laughed once.
That laugh held no humor.
“You don’t get to tell me what to drop when you look like somebody just handed you a subpoena.”
Patrick stood.
“I’m getting coffee.”
“You hate funeral home coffee.”
“I’m expanding my horizons.”
He moved toward the door.
Denise stepped in front of him.
For a moment, I could see them as children.
Same eyes.
Same stubborn jaw.
Two people who had probably been fighting in kitchens and barnyards long before I knew either of them.
“Move,” Patrick said.
“No.”
“Denise.”
“What did Mom leave behind?”
Laura stopped folding the tissue.
Patrick’s face tightened.
“Nothing.”
Denise looked at me.
“Mabel?”
I did not answer.
Her expression changed immediately.
That hurt more than I expected.
Not because she distrusted me.
Because I understood why.
For twelve years, I had been the person with access.
I knew Fiona’s medications, passwords, appointment dates, checking balance, and where she hid cash for the church raffle.
If there were suddenly money or documents nobody else knew about, I would be the obvious person to suspect.
Denise said, “Did Mom give you something?”
Laura whispered, “Oh my God.”
Daniel stood.
“Stop.”
Denise looked at him.
“So yes.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Patrick reached around her and opened the door.
I heard myself say, “Fiona gave me the pillow.”
Everyone stopped.
Laura blinked.
“The disgusting pillow?”
“Yes.”
“What does that have to do with anything?”
Patrick turned slowly.
I could have lied.
I could have bought another day.
But Fiona had not asked me to preserve her silence forever.
She had asked me to understand before I decided.
I understood enough to know this family had spent years living inside partial truths.
“There were papers inside it.”
Denise stared at me.
“What papers?”
“Old financial papers.”
Patrick swore under his breath.
Laura’s eyes moved to him.
“You knew?”
“No.”
“That sounded like you knew.”
“I said no.”
Denise stepped away from the door.
Her voice became quieter.
“What kind of financial papers?”
Daniel looked at me.
I shook my head.
“Not now.”
May you like
Her mouth opened.
I said, “I mean it.”
