Chapter 12
Just tears falling onto the tablecloth while the morning light filled my new kitchen.
I called Louise.
She answered on the first ring.
“Carol, I’m sorry,” she said before I could speak. “I should have sent that sooner.”
“You knew?”
“I saw them go in that evening. At first, I thought maybe you had asked them to check on something. But later, when I heard about the sale, I reviewed the footage.”
“Why didn’t you call me?”
“I didn’t want to interfere if I was wrong.”
“You weren’t wrong.”
“I’m so sorry.”
I thanked her.
Then I called Rena.
When she saw the video, her expression changed.
Not surprise.
Concern.
“Did they take anything?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Did you notice any documents missing?”
I thought of the folder Mark carried.
The folder I had kept in the desk drawer near the living room.
Old insurance papers.
Property tax records.
Bank statements.
Frank’s files.
I suddenly remembered something else.
My old deed folder had been missing for several days before the closing.
I had assumed I misplaced it during packing.
Then it appeared on the kitchen counter.
I had not thought much about it.
Now I did.
Rena leaned forward.
“Carol, we need to make sure your financial accounts are secure. We also need to document this video.”
“Do I need to call the police?”
“That is your decision. But I would at least make a report.”
The idea of filing a report against my daughter made my stomach twist.
I did not want to do it.
But I did.
A police officer came to Willow Lake that afternoon.
He was respectful.
He watched the video twice.
He wrote down dates and names.
He asked whether anything was missing.
I told him I was still checking.
When he left, I felt exhausted.
Not relieved.
Not vindicated.
Just tired.
Because there is nothing satisfying about realizing the people you love may have been planning around your weakness.
Two days later, Jessica called.
Her voice sounded shaky.
“Mom, we need to talk.”
“I know.”
“Did Louise send you something?”
I closed my eyes.
So she knew.
“Yes.”
There was a long pause.
“Mom, it wasn’t like that.”
“Then tell me what it was like.”
“We were worried.”
“You were inside my house without telling me.”
“We were checking on things.”
“With a key I gave you for emergencies.”
“It was an emergency.”
“What emergency?”
She did not answer.
“Jessica,” I said, “what did Mark mean when he said you needed to move before I gave everything away?”
Her silence was unbearable.
“Mom, please.”
“What did you mean when you said I would be easier to manage in a senior place?”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Then what way did you mean it?”
“I was frustrated.”
“With me?”
“With everything.”
“Everything includes my money?”
She began to cry.
“I’m sorry.”
“That is not an answer.”
“I didn’t know what to do.”
“You could have talked to me.”
“I tried.”
“No, you dropped hints. You pointed out problems. You spoke about my future as if I was not in the room. You never once sat down and asked what I wanted.”
“I thought you were lonely.”
“I was lonely because my daughter stopped making time for me.”
That sentence hit her hard.
I heard her inhale sharply.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then she whispered, “Mark has been under a lot of pressure.”
I felt something cold move through me.
“What kind of pressure?”
“He made some bad investments.”
There it was.
The truth.
Not all of it.
But enough.
“What investments?”
“Mom, it’s complicated.”
“Then explain it.”
“He got involved in a business deal with someone from his firm. It didn’t work out. We lost money.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“Jessica.”
May you like
“A lot.”
I sat down.
