Chương 2
One was from the assisted-living community.
One was from the attorney.
The third was Eleanor’s electric bill.
He had placed them there that morning before taking her to a cardiology appointment. The plan had been to stop for lunch afterward, return home, sit at the kitchen table, and tell her.
Then Rachel had found the duffel in the SUV.
She had called him from the garage.
He had come down.
Eleanor had followed because Mark had left her standing alone in the lobby.
Everything after that had happened in less than four minutes.
Eleanor moved toward the kitchen.
“Sit down,” Mark said.
“I’ve been sitting all day.”
“You said your hip hurt.”
“It does.”
“Then sit.”
She turned her head.
He heard his own tone too late.
“Sorry.”
Eleanor continued to the island.
Rachel leaned against the counter.
“You said something about the apartment.”
Eleanor picked up the envelope from the assisted-living facility.
“Cedar Glen,” she read.
Mark said nothing.
She opened it.
“I already signed that.”
“I know.”
“So what did you sign?”
“The residency agreement.”
Her eyes lifted.
“You signed a residency agreement for me?”
“I’m your healthcare proxy.”
“That isn’t what a healthcare proxy does.”
“It’s more complicated than that.”
“No, Mark. It really isn’t.”
Rachel pushed away from the counter. “He has power of attorney.”
Eleanor looked at her son.
Mark wished Rachel had stayed silent.
“You used it?”
“Mom, listen.”
“You used my power of attorney to sign a contract putting me in assisted living?”
“It’s not putting you anywhere. It’s reserving the room.”
“You packed my clothes.”
“I was going to talk to you.”
“When?”
“Today.”
“Before or after you drove me there?”
Mark rubbed his forehead.
Rachel said, “This is exactly what I told you would happen.”
He looked at her. “Please.”
“No. You keep saying please like it changes what you did.”
Eleanor placed the Cedar Glen letter on the counter.
“What else did you sign?”
“Nothing.”
She waited.
Mark’s silence betrayed him.
Her face changed.
Not much.
Enough.
“What else?”
“There are financial forms.”
“What financial forms?”
“Mom—”
“What did you sign?”
“The deposit authorization.”
Eleanor gripped the edge of the island.
Rachel frowned. “What deposit?”
Mark closed his eyes for half a second.
“Twenty-two thousand.”
Rachel stood upright.
“You told me five.”
“That was the community fee.”
“You moved twenty-two thousand dollars?”
“It’s refundable.”
“From where?”
Mark did not answer.
Rachel’s voice dropped. “Mark.”
“Mom’s account.”
Eleanor’s thumb rubbed slowly against the quartz.
Rachel stared at him as though the person standing in front of her had become unfamiliar.
“You transferred twenty-two thousand dollars out of her account without telling her?”
“I have authority.”
Eleanor laughed once.
There was no humor in it.
“That phrase should worry you more than it apparently does.”
Mark pulled out one of the kitchen stools.
“Can everybody just sit down?”
Nobody did.
He sat alone.
For months he had imagined himself as the person keeping the family from collapsing. Rachel and Eleanor could not live together anymore. That much was undeniable. Their arguments had moved from occasional irritation to daily warfare: thermostat settings, dishes left in the sink, television volume, groceries, parking, laundry, the guest bathroom, whether Eleanor needed help showering, whether Rachel had the right to ask.
Mark worked ten-hour days managing risk systems for a regional bank and came home each evening to whichever complaint had survived until he arrived.
Rachel said Eleanor undermined her.
Eleanor said Rachel resented her.
Both were right.
Both were wrong.
Mark had believed that meant he was the reasonable one.
Sitting at the island now, he saw another possibility.
Maybe he had simply been the one who refused to choose until his refusal became a choice of its own.
Eleanor walked toward the small desk beside the dining room.
She opened the top drawer.
“What are you doing?” Mark asked.
“Looking for something.”
Rachel glanced at him.
Eleanor took out a red accordion folder.
Mark recognized it.
Property records. Insurance policies. Old tax documents. Things his mother kept because she distrusted digital copies and because, as she once told him, computers were excellent at remembering things until they weren’t.
She carried the folder to the table.
“Mom, whatever you think—”
“I’m not thinking anything yet.”
She sat.
Her hands shook slightly as she opened the elastic strap.
Rachel noticed.
So did Mark.
Neither offered help.
Eleanor pulled out several documents.
She put on the reading glasses hanging from a cord beneath her cardigan.
“You remember when you bought this place?”
Mark leaned against the island.
“Yes.”
“No, you remember moving into it. Different thing.”
Rachel folded her arms again.
Eleanor found a document and flattened it against the table.
“You and Rachel were renting on Irving Street.”
Mark knew where this was going, or thought he did.
“You needed a down payment.”
“You helped us.”
“I did.”
Rachel said, “We’ve never denied that.”
Eleanor looked at her. “I’m not accusing you.”
“That usually comes later.”
“Rachel.”
“What?”
Mark looked between them.
Eleanor removed her glasses.
“Would you like to keep fighting with me, or would you like to find out why your husband looks like he’s going to be sick?”
Rachel’s eyes shifted to Mark.
He was, in fact, beginning to feel sick.
Eleanor pushed the document toward him.
“Read the first page.”
He didn’t move.
“Mark.”
“I know what it is.”
“Then tell Rachel.”
Rachel looked down at the document.
“What is it?”
Mark rubbed the keys in his pocket even though they were no longer in his hand. He had put them on the counter. The phantom pressure remained.
“It’s the purchase agreement.”
“No,” Eleanor said. “Try again.”
He looked at his mother.
She looked tired now.
Not triumphant.
That made it worse.
“The trust bought the apartment.”
Rachel stared at him.
“What trust?”
“My father’s.”
Eleanor corrected him quietly.
“My trust.”
Rachel pulled out a chair and sat.
May you like
For the first time since the garage, her anger had nowhere obvious to go.
“I thought we owned this apartment.”
