“You slept with a chair beneath your doorknob.”
Susan looked away.
Jessica continued.
“I kept telling myself every arrangement was temporary. The attic. The medicine. The lies. The foreclosure notices hidden in the drawer.”
She looked at my parents.
“Temporary can become a cruel word when no one asks how long it has lasted.”
My mother reached across the table.
Jessica hesitated before taking her hand.
“You were overwhelmed,” my mother said.
“That does not excuse everything.”
“No.”
Jessica’s eyes filled.
“But it explains why we all need to begin again differently.”
My father cleared his throat.
“Tonight, Helen and I sleep downstairs.”
Susan nodded.
“I will take the sofa.”
“No,” my mother said. “You have arthritis.”
“So do you.”
“I have a husband who snores loudly enough to scare intruders.”
A small laugh escaped Jessica.
Then Michael laughed.
It was the first warm sound I had heard since arriving.
Even my father smiled.
The laughter did not erase anything.
It simply reminded us we were still capable of it.
“We need a plan,” I said.
Michael straightened.
“I have documents in the truck. Copies of the loan records, the land maps, and Reed’s correspondence.”
“I know an attorney in Chicago who specializes in trust litigation.”
Jessica’s face tightened.
“Can we afford that?”
“I can.”
Michael shook his head.
“No. You have already paid too much.”
“This is not about paying for your mistake. It is about protecting Mom and Dad.”
“I will repay you.”
“Do not make promises you cannot keep.”
He absorbed that.
Then nodded.
“I will help however I can.”
“First, we request an emergency delay on the foreclosure. Second, Mom sees a physician who has no connection to Reed or anyone Michael met through him.”
My mother sighed.
“I knew that was coming.”
“You are not confused,” I said. “But those medicines may be affecting you.”
“I know.”
I looked at her.
“You know?”
She nodded.
“I stopped taking the sleeping pill three days ago.”
Jessica stared.
“You told me you took it.”
“I put it beneath my tongue and removed it later.”
“Mom.”
“I wanted to know whether my mind would clear.”
“And did it?”
She looked directly at me.
“Yes.”
My father’s face filled with concern.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because I was no longer sure who was listening.”
The warmth disappeared from the room.
I remembered the late-night calls.
The slow-moving vehicles.
The note left on the porch.
“Do you still think someone has been watching the house?” I asked.
My mother looked toward the darkening windows.
“I think someone wanted me to appear unreliable.”
Jessica stood abruptly.
“You think the medication was intentional?”
“I do not know.”
“Dr. Whitmore said—”
“Dr. Whitmore came after Michael found Box 214,” my mother said.
Michael’s face went pale.
“I found him through Reed.”
No one spoke.
The connection was too clear to ignore.
Reed had helped alter the trust.
Reed had guided Michael toward the loan.
Reed had recommended the doctor.
If my mother had been declared mentally incapable, decisions concerning the trust and property could have become even easier to manipulate.
Susan pushed her chair back.
“I am checking every door.”
Thomas stood.
“I’ll go with you.”
They moved through the house together, an unlikely pair united by suspicion.
Outside, evening settled over the fields.
My father turned on the porch light.
For the first time all day, the farmhouse looked almost peaceful.
Jessica began preparing food because it was what she did when she needed her hands occupied. My mother joined her. They worked side by side without speaking much.
Michael and I carried boxes from the truck into the study.
As we placed the last one on the floor, he remained near the doorway.
“I envied you,” he said.
I looked up.
“For what?”
“For leaving.”
I laughed quietly.
“I envied you for staying.”
“You thought I had the easier life?”
“I thought you had a family, a business, and a home.”
“I thought you had freedom.”
“Mostly I had hotel rooms and deadlines.”
He leaned against the doorframe.
“We wasted a lot of time imagining the other person had won.”
I looked at him.
“You should have called me.”
“I know.”
