Part 4
“She took my keys.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago.”
“Why?”
“I backed into the garden wall.”
“Were you hurt?”
“The wall was.”
Despite himself, Daniel almost smiled.
Thomas’s expression remained dry. “She said I shouldn’t drive. She was probably right.”
“That isn’t the same as stopping you from leaving.”
“No. It isn’t.”
“Did she?”
“She canceled the car service twice.”
“Why?”
“She said I was tired.”
“Were you?”
“Yes.”
Daniel breathed out through his nose.
There it was—the old problem of his father. Every answer came with a counterweight. Every accusation was made less convenient by an acknowledgment. Thomas had spent forty years negotiating insurance disputes and another ten overseeing the foundation. He distrusted clean narratives, especially when they benefited him.
“Did she take your phone?” Daniel asked.
“She replaced it.”
“With what?”
“One with large buttons.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It calls three numbers.”
“Whose?”
“Evelyn’s, the house office, and emergency services.”
“Not mine?”
Thomas looked at him. “You stopped answering.”
Daniel turned toward the small rear window.
The road behind them shone under rotating red light. Bare trees appeared and vanished.
“I was on a call the first time,” he said.
“And the other times?”
“I didn’t know what to say.”
“Neither did I.”
Hannah adjusted the flow of fluid. The monitor continued its steady electronic rhythm.
Daniel looked back at his father. “Tell me about the property transfer.”
Thomas closed his eyes again.
“Evelyn believes the foundation needs the estate.”
“Does it?”
“The foundation needs money. The estate is not money.”
“Did you agree to transfer it?”
“I agreed to discuss it.”
“Did you sign anything?”
“No.”
“Did she say you had?”
“She said the board needed certainty.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It may be the only one she has.”
Daniel leaned forward, forearms against his thighs. “Why were you in the pantry?”
Thomas’s eyelids moved, but he did not open them.
“I intended to attend dinner.”
“And she didn’t want you there.”
“She said I had already made a scene.”
“Had you?”
“I told Charles Wren the signature on the draft resolution was not mine.”
Hannah’s hand paused above the medical bag.
Daniel kept his voice low. “Was it?”
“No.”
“Did Charles know?”
“He knew after I told him.”
“What did he do?”
“He asked Evelyn for another drink.”
Daniel sat back.
The ambulance turned onto the highway.
At the hospital, Thomas was taken through triage quickly because of his age, low temperature, and irregular heartbeat. Daniel signed nothing beyond the acknowledgment that he had arrived with him. Thomas remained able to answer for himself, and Daniel made certain the staff spoke to him directly.
A nurse asked about the uniform.
Daniel looked down as though he had forgotten he was wearing it.
“Ceremony,” he said.
“Good one?”
“I don’t know yet.”
She glanced at the medal but did not ask further.
They moved Thomas into a private emergency room bay. The music box sat on a wheeled tray beside a plastic basin and a box of tissues. Its walnut surface looked out of place under fluorescent light.
Evelyn arrived twenty minutes later wearing a camel coat over the burgundy gown. She had removed the diamond necklace. Without it, her throat looked bare and older.
A security officer stopped her at the desk until Thomas gave permission for her to enter.
She stood at the foot of his bed.
No one spoke.
Daniel had seen families fight in hospital rooms. They often fought about whatever had been available before the emergency—parking, a forgotten charger, the wrong jacket—because the real fear was too large to touch. Evelyn adjusted the strap of her handbag twice. Thomas watched the blood pressure cuff inflate around his arm.
Finally she said, “I did not lock the door.”
Daniel looked at her.
“I closed it,” she continued. “The latch slipped. The staff entrance had been opening all evening. I did not turn a key.”
“There is no key,” Daniel said.
“I didn’t know that.”
“You’ve lived in that house for twenty-seven years.”
“I have not inspected every latch.”
Thomas spoke without looking at her. “You moved the chair against it.”
Evelyn went still.
Daniel’s breathing changed. He kept his hands open on his knees.
“What chair?” he asked.
“The narrow hall chair,” Thomas said. “She pushed it under the handle.”
“I was afraid he would come out and fall,” Evelyn said.
Thomas turned his head toward her. “You were afraid I would speak.”
“To whom? A room of strangers who had donated two million dollars because they believed this family was stable? You were in your slippers. You had spilled wine on your shirt. You were waving an unsigned resolution and calling Charles a coward.”
“He is a coward.”
“That doesn’t make you well.”
Charles appeared beyond the glass partition as if summoned by the insult. He had followed them to the hospital but remained outside until then.
Daniel stood. “You should come in.”
Charles did not move.
Evelyn looked over her shoulder. “Go home, Charles.”
He entered.
The emergency room bay became too small for all of them. Charles positioned himself near the curtain, one hand gripping the handle of his briefcase.
A physician arrived before the conversation could continue. Dr. Patel was young enough that Evelyn initially directed her answers toward the older nurse, then corrected herself when the physician asked her to stop.
Thomas had no signs of a heart attack or stroke. His rhythm abnormality required monitoring, but the immediate concerns were dehydration, exposure to cold, and possible medication mismanagement. Blood tests had found a sedative in his system.
“What sedative?” Daniel asked.
Dr. Patel named it.
Daniel recognized the medication. It was sometimes prescribed for anxiety or insomnia, but in older patients it could worsen confusion and increase fall risk.
“Is that part of his current medication list?” the physician asked.
Evelyn opened her handbag. “He has a prescription.”
“Who prescribed it?”
“His previous doctor.”
“When was the last dose supposed to be given?”
May you like
“As needed.”
“Who gave it tonight?”
