Chương 6
“You came with an agreement before you knew what the letter said.”
“It’s a template.”
Richard took the folder from her. “This is going nowhere.”
He left through the back door.
Marcy stayed long enough to gather her purse.
At the threshold, she looked at Althea. “He did love his father.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
Althea almost told her about the mornings Bill waited beside the front window after Richard promised to visit. She almost described how he would put on a clean shirt and refuse breakfast until noon because Richard might bring lunch. She almost said that love measured only by what a person felt was cheap.
Instead, she said, “Drive carefully.”
The funeral was held three days later in a brick church Bill had stopped attending after Margaret died.
Richard arranged most of it without consulting Althea. He selected a mahogany-colored casket, though Bill had chosen a plain pine one through the funeral home’s preplanning service. The director quietly showed Richard the signed form, and the pine casket remained.
Richard wrote the obituary.
It described Bill as a devoted father of two sons and loving grandfather to Claire. It mentioned Evan’s death in one sentence. It did not mention Althea.
Denise noticed and added Althea’s name to the printed programs with a black pen before the service. Her handwriting was small and neat. She did it without asking.
People from town filled the first six rows. Some knew Bill from the feed mill, some from the county road crew, some from church. They shook Althea’s hand and told her she had been a blessing. Others glanced at Richard first, uncertain which version of the family they were expected to believe.
Rumors had moved faster than the funeral notices.
At the grocery store, a cashier asked Althea whether Bill had really hidden gold in his mattress. At the gas station, a man she knew only as Mr. Pettit said old people sometimes became too trusting near the end. When she asked what he meant, he became interested in the price display above the register.
Richard stood near the casket accepting condolences as if grief were another business he had inherited.
He looked handsome in a dark suit. Exhaustion had softened him. Twice, Althea saw him touch the cuff above the bruises Bill had left on his wrist.
Claire sat beside Althea during the service.
Marcy sat on Richard’s other side.
The pastor spoke about forgiveness without naming anything that required it. He said Bill had been generous with his labor, stubborn in his opinions, and faithful to family. Althea wondered whether the pastor had met him.
During the final hymn, Richard sang every word.
At the cemetery, cold wind moved over the flat fields. Bill was buried beside Margaret and three plots from Evan. The funeral director gave Althea the folded flag from the brief military honor because Bill’s paperwork listed her as the person authorized to receive it.
Richard stepped forward.
The director hesitated.
Althea handed the flag to Richard.
His fingers closed over it. He did not thank her.
Afterward, people gathered in the church basement around trays of ham sandwiches and potato salad. A woman from hospice brought a chocolate cake because Bill had once told her chocolate was the only legitimate reason to attend a funeral.
Althea stood near the coffee urn while two women behind her discussed the pillow.
“Forty thousand, I heard.”
“And gold.”
“Poor Richard.”
Althea turned.
The women stopped speaking.
One of them adjusted the plastic lid on a bowl of pickles. “We’re so sorry for your loss.”
“Which one?” Althea asked.
Claire appeared beside her before the women could answer. She carried two paper cups of coffee.
“You could have let that go,” she said when they moved away.
“I could have.”
“You usually do.”
“I’m tired.”
Claire handed her a cup. “This coffee is terrible.”
“It’s church coffee.”
“Is that a category?”
“It’s a threat.”
Claire smiled for less than a second.
They drank in silence.
Across the room, Richard was talking to a tall man with silver glasses. The man wore a navy suit and held himself slightly apart from the mourners.
“That’s his attorney,” Claire said.
“You know him?”
“Dad uses his firm for business contracts. Gordon Pike.”
Richard saw them watching.
He said something to Pike and came over.
“I want the house keys,” he told Althea.
“No.”
“We’re filing a petition this afternoon.”
“It’s Bill’s funeral.”
“Which you used to establish yourself as the grieving widow.”
“I am a widow.”
“Not his.”
Claire lowered her coffee.
Althea looked at the folded flag under Richard’s arm. “Did you come here to bury him or win?”
His jaw shifted.
For a moment, the basement noise seemed to recede. Plates clicked. A child ran between tables. Someone laughed too loudly near the coat rack.
Richard leaned closer. “You think his last little performance makes you untouchable.”
“No.”
“You think people didn’t see what was happening in that house.”
“They saw more than you did.”
“I will prove you exploited him.”
Althea’s stomach tightened.
Richard saw it.
That pleased him, and the pleasure frightened her more than anger would have.
“You signed his checks,” he said.
Claire looked at Althea.
Richard continued. “You used his debit card. You isolated him. You let him develop infected pressure wounds. You refused hospitalization, and then the day he dies, we discover cash hidden in his bedding and a deed you claim you knew nothing about.”
“I don’t claim there is a deed. Miriam said there is.”
“She is your lawyer.”
“She was Bill’s lawyer.”
“Not anymore.”
He walked away.
Claire waited until he reached Pike.
“Did you sign Grandpa’s checks?”
“Sometimes.”
“With permission?”
“Yes.”
“Was there a power of attorney?”
“Not for me.”
Claire set down her coffee.
Althea’s hands became cold around the cup. “He couldn’t hold a pen some days. The electric company sent a shutoff notice in January. He told me to sign.”
“You signed his name?”
May you like
“Yes.”
“How many times?”
