Chương 4
Claire stepped farther into the room. “He looked awful.”
“He was dying.”
“He had sores.”
“They were treated.”
“Dad says you refused to take him to the hospital.”
“Your father wasn’t here.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s wrong.”
“No.”
Claire waited.
Althea rubbed the side of her thumb, where Bill’s fingernail had left a small cut during his final week. “The hospital could have treated the infection more aggressively. They could have given him fluids. Maybe antibiotics through an IV.”
“Why didn’t you take him?”
“Because he signed a hospice directive. Because the last time he went, they strapped him to a bed after he tried to pull out the catheter. Because he begged me not to send him back.”
“Was he in his right mind?”
“Most days.”
“That’s not an answer either.”
“No,” Althea said. “It isn’t.”
Claire looked at Margaret’s portrait. “My dad thinks you kept Grandpa sick so he’d leave you the house.”
“I know.”
“Did Grandpa leave you the house?”
“I don’t know.”
Claire glanced toward the pantry. “The envelope might say.”
“It might.”
“Aren’t you curious?”
Althea gave a tired laugh that surprised both of them. “Curious is not the problem.”
Richard called from the front door. Claire did not move immediately.
“Did he ever ask about me?” she said.
“Bill?”
She nodded.
“He asked whether you still wore those green shoes.”
Claire frowned. “What green shoes?”
“You had them when you were little. Rubber things with frogs on the toes.”
“I don’t remember them.”
“He did.”
Her face tightened.
From the front of the house, Richard called again.
Claire wiped beneath one eye with the heel of her hand. “Don’t open the envelope alone.”
“I won’t.”
“And don’t move the money.”
“I won’t.”
She hesitated. “I’m sorry he grabbed you.”
“He was grabbing for the pillow.”
“You know what I mean.”
Althea did.
After they left, she locked the front door and stood in the kitchen listening to the old house settle. There had always been sounds she could assign to Bill: the cough from his room, the scrape of his walker, the television turned low after midnight. Without him, each noise became part of the building.
She found half a muffin on the dining table and ate it over the sink.
Then she went into the pantry and sat on the floor beside the sealed bin until morning.
Richard returned at eight twenty with no attorney.
He brought Marcy instead.
She entered wearing a camel-colored coat and carrying a leather folder. She looked around the kitchen as though the deterioration had occurred overnight and Althea might be personally responsible for the water stain above the stove.
“I’m very sorry,” Marcy said.
“Thank you.”
“I know this is difficult.”
“Yes.”
“For everyone.”
Althea moved aside so she could sit.
Richard remained standing. “We need to open the envelope.”
Claire came ten minutes later, followed by Denise, who had slept at a motel near the interstate. Ruth could not return but had emailed the photographs again after Richard claimed he could not find them. Althea placed the sealed bin on the table.
Marcy inspected the signatures. “The tape looks intact.”
“It is,” Althea said.
Richard cut it with a kitchen knife.
They recounted the cash. Nothing was missing.
The envelope was heavier than Althea expected. Bill had sealed the flap with clear tape and written the date beneath her name: October 14, eight months earlier.
Richard saw it. “Convenient.”
“For whom?” Claire asked.
Althea opened it.
Inside were three sheets of lined paper, a business card, and a small brass key attached to a cardboard tag. Bill had written ALTHEA on the tag, then crossed it out and written EVAN’S BOX.
The business card belonged to an attorney named Miriam Voss in St. Joseph.
Richard took out his phone.
“Don’t,” Althea said.
“I’m calling the number.”
“You can call after we read the letter.”
“It may not be authentic.”
“You recognized his writing on the envelope.”
“That doesn’t mean you didn’t make him write it.”
Marcy touched his sleeve. “Richard.”
He stepped back.
Althea unfolded the pages.
Bill’s handwriting had never been elegant. Arthritis had reduced it to cramped lines that drifted downward. He had started in blue ink, changed to black halfway through, and left several words scratched out.
Althea read aloud because no one else volunteered.
“Althea, if you have this, I was too much of a coward to explain everything while I was alive. That is not your fault, though you will likely pay for it.”
Richard gave a short, disbelieving breath.
She continued.
“The money in the pillow and the coins are yours. They are not payment for care because no amount would settle that account. They are what remained after I corrected a mistake I should have corrected years ago. Miriam Voss has the legal papers. Call her before you agree to anything Richard puts in front of you.”
Richard said, “Stop.”
No one looked at him.
Althea’s voice became thinner.
“The house will pass according to the beneficiary deed recorded last fall. The contents are yours except for the things listed for Claire and Denise in my will. Richard will say I was confused. I was confused about many things. I forgot the date. I called you Margaret twice. I put salt in my coffee and blamed the sugar bowl. I was not confused about this.”
Claire sat down.
“The key is for Evan’s metal box. It is behind Margaret’s picture, inside the wall. I moved it because Richard knows where it used to be. Give the blue ledger inside to Miriam. Do not destroy it because you feel sorry for him. Feeling sorry for people has cost you too much.”
Althea stopped.
The kitchen faucet dripped once, then again.
“There’s more,” Denise said.
May you like
Althea turned the page.
“I loved both my sons. I did not love them well. That is different from not loving them. Evan forgave too easily. Richard never forgave at all. I used one against the other until neither knew what belonged to him. The money is part of that. The house is part of that. So are you.”
