Chapter 24 - RICHARD’S LAST YEARS
Richard lived to eighty-five.
By then, his power was gone.
His personality remained.
He still complained about hotel lobby music.
Still believed neckties mattered morally.
Still interrupted.
People do not become saints because courts punish them.
His relationship with Lily became limited but real.
Birthday calls.
Occasional lunch.
One Hart House Christmas every few years.
He never regained trust authority.
Never controlled her money.
Never sat at a head chair.
At eighty-three he asked Lily:
“Do you think you forgive me?”
She answered:
“I don’t organize our relationship around that.”
I laughed when she told me.
Apparently my language had infected her.
Richard considered.
“Do you hate me?”
“No.”
“Good.”
“That doesn’t mean what you did got smaller.”
“I know.”
Better.
He died from heart failure.
No mystery.
No suspicious family plot.
His estate paid remaining restitution obligations first.
Lawful assets then distributed according to his will.
Lily received:
A fountain pen.
A set of old hotel postcards.
And Evelyn’s chair.
She stared at the executor.
“The chair?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
A note from Richard.
I spent too long believing this chair proved who belonged. Do whatever you want with it.
Lily called me.
“What do I do?”
“Whatever you want.”
She donated it back to Hart House archives.
Not dining room.
Library exhibit.
Label:
CHAIR FROM EVELYN HART’S PRIVATE STUDY, C. 1970.
No mention of Lily’s fall.
An object returned to history.
May you like
Not trauma.
That was enough.
