Chương 10
“You don’t have to confess to every bottle of shampoo,” Claire said.
“Yes, I do.”
“No reasonable person thinks shampoo is exploitation.”
“Your father might.”
“My father thinks silence is evidence.”
Althea looked at her. “You’re angry.”
“I’m furious.”
“At him?”
“At everybody.”
Claire sorted receipts more aggressively. “Grandpa let Dad believe the business money was his. Dad let Grandpa believe he would pay it back. You let Grandpa make you responsible for every miserable thing in this house. Mom acted like none of it existed. I drove Grandpa to a lawyer and then went to brunch.”
“You helped him.”
“I left him here afterward.”
“So did I, every time I went to the grocery store.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No. It isn’t.”
Claire dropped a receipt into the box. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Refuse to make anything easier.”
Althea leaned back against the cabinet. “Easy answers are how your family got here.”
“You mean my father.”
“I mean all of you.”
Claire stared at her.
Althea regretted the words but not enough to withdraw them.
“You think Evan was different,” Claire said.
“He was.”
“You think he never took money from Grandpa?”
“He borrowed some.”
“He borrowed fifteen thousand dollars for medical bills and never repaid it.”
“Evan died.”
“That erased the debt?”
“It made repayment difficult.”
Claire almost smiled. She did not.
“Grandpa kept score,” she said.
“Yes.”
“And you’re still using his ledger.”
The sentence struck harder than Claire intended. Her face changed immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
Althea looked at the blue book on the table. “Don’t be.”
She closed it.
The next day, Miriam called with an update. Bill’s bank records confirmed the two transfers to Richard’s company. The bank had preserved a recorded call from the attempted third transfer because its fraud department flagged the request.
“Can we listen to it?” Althea asked.
“Eventually, through discovery. I have a summary.”
“What did Richard say?”
“He identified himself as acting under power of attorney.”
“He knew it was revoked.”
“That will be a central question.”
“What did Bill say?”
“He called the bank later with me present. He disputed authorization.”
“Did he ask them to prosecute Richard?”
“No.”
Althea looked at Bill’s empty bed.
“What did he ask?”
“He asked them to stop the money from leaving.”
Miriam’s tone changed. “There is something else. Richard’s attorney has sent a settlement proposal.”
The house would be sold. Legal expenses and estate costs would be paid. Althea would receive the forty thousand dollars and thirty percent of the net sale proceeds. Richard would receive the remaining seventy percent. Both sides would release claims concerning the bank transfers, the truck proceeds, the will, and the deed.
“How much would I get?” Althea asked.
“Perhaps sixty-five thousand after costs, depending on the sale price.”
“And Richard?”
“More.”
“Would he stop saying I abused Bill?”
“The agreement includes mutual non-disparagement.”
“That isn’t the same.”
“No.”
“What do you think?”
“I think litigation could take a year or longer. I think you have strong evidence supporting the deed. I also think your recordkeeping was poor, you signed Bill’s name, and photographs of his final condition will be emotionally powerful even if hospice confirms proper care. Litigation is not a machine that accepts truth and produces justice.”
Althea picked at a loose thread in her sleeve.
Miriam continued. “You may win and still lose money, health, work, and relationships. You may settle and remain angry for the rest of your life. My role is to explain risk, not choose which cost you can bear.”
Althea asked for three days.
That night, she walked through the house calculating what could be sold.
The dining table might bring two hundred dollars. The walnut dresser in Bill’s room belonged to Denise. The old oil lantern was Claire’s. Most of the furniture had swollen veneer, missing handles, or stains no cleaning removed. The house itself needed a roof, plumbing, wiring, and new windows. A realtor Miriam consulted estimated it might sell for one hundred fifteen thousand dollars as-is.
The inheritance people imagined was smaller than the story surrounding it.
Althea sat on the floor where the pillow had torn.
A coin had rolled beneath the bed and escaped the inventory. She found it lodged between two boards, dull in the moonlight. She did not touch it. The temporary order made every object feel dangerous.
Bill had spent his last months fearing Richard would take his money. Richard had spent those months fearing Bill would leave him nothing. Evan had been dead six years and was still being used to settle accounts.
Althea lay on the floor and stared at the underside of the bed.
When she closed her eyes, she heard Bill’s last words again.
She stayed when all I had left was pain.
It sounded like praise in front of Richard.
Alone, it felt like an accusation.
Bill had had more than pain. He had bad jokes, anger, fear, appetite, embarrassment, and the stubborn pleasure of correcting television weather reports. He had liked canned pears and hated socks in bed. He had once spent forty minutes teaching Althea how to sharpen a mower blade, then admitted he had never done it correctly himself.
She had stayed for those things too.
But she had also stayed because leaving would have required admitting she had no other life waiting.
The next morning, Althea drove to the cemetery.
The ground above Bill’s grave was raw and damp. Margaret’s stone had lichen along one edge. Evan’s marker was smaller than she remembered.
She sat on the wet grass between them.
“You made a mess,” she told Bill.
A mower started somewhere beyond the hill.
She picked a dead leaf from Evan’s name.
“I’m thinking about selling the house.”
The wind moved across the cemetery. Nothing answered.
“I don’t know whether that means Richard wins.”
A pickup passed on the county road.
May you like
Althea stayed until her jeans were soaked at the knees.
When she returned home, Richard was waiting in the driveway.
