“He told me the money belonged to both of you. He said you were controlling him.”
“The bank asked you to confirm that you were me,” I said.
She breathed unevenly on the other end. “Dad said it was just a security question.”
“And you answered using my name.”
“I know.”
Neither of us spoke for several long seconds.
Then she said, quietly, “What I said at the reunion was horrible.”
“Yes.”
“Grandma told me you needed to be reminded that marrying Dad didn’t make you better than the rest of us.”
That sentence, I understood, was probably meant to shift some of the blame onto Eleanor. It didn’t change the fact that Madison had chosen those exact words herself, or that Richard had sat there chewing his brisket while she said them.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I didn’t tell her it was all right. It wasn’t.
