Chapter 13 - THE FAMILY MEETING
For one exhausted minute, I wanted to let her come.
I wanted twelve witnesses.
I wanted to lay every document across Rose’s dining table and make Martha explain each lie while people finally listened.
Then I pictured my wedding.
The staring.
The whispering.
My pain turned into something everyone else discussed over food.
“No,” I said.
Nick looked up.
“She doesn’t get another audience in our house.”
“Our house?”
The words had slipped out.
I let them stay.
“Our house.”
His eyes filled, but he didn’t make the moment about that.
He wrote to the relatives Martha had contacted.
There would be no meeting.
Nobody had permission to enter the property.
Questions about the estate would go through Elaine.
Three people apologized.
Two didn’t answer.
One called him cruel.
We kept the message anyway.
Friday evening, we went to Rose’s house together.
Not to meet Martha.
To take measurements for the repairs we had decided to do.
The kitchen needed paint.
A bedroom window stuck.
The porch railing wobbled when you touched it.
Ordinary problems.
For half an hour, ordinary felt wonderful.
Then tires crunched on the driveway.
Martha arrived alone.
She tried her key.
It didn’t turn.
Through the window, I watched her try again.
Harder.
Then she pounded on the door.
Nick stayed beside me.
“We told you not to come,” he said through the closed door.
“I’m your mother.”
“You need to leave.”
“I know she’s in there.”
I stepped into view.
“Yes.”
Martha stared through the glass.
My hair had been professionally evened out that morning.
Short.
Clean around my jaw.
Entirely different from the style she had left me with.
Her eyes flicked toward it.
“There. You look better anyway.”
Something settled inside me.
Not anger.
Anger had been hot and exhausting.
This was cooler.
“You still think that’s the point.”
She turned back to Nick.
“I need to speak to you alone.”
“No.”
“I have things to tell you about her.”
“You can send them to our lawyer.”
Martha slapped her palm against the glass.
“You ungrateful little—”
She stopped when she saw his phone.
He wasn’t waving it at her.
He had simply begun recording what was happening.
Her voice changed immediately.
“Nicky. Please.”
He swallowed.
“I’ll call for help if you don’t leave.”
For a moment, I thought she would.
Then she sat on the porch steps.
Folded her arms.
And said she would stay all night.
Nick looked at me.
May you like
His hands were shaking.
But when he made the call, his voice didn’t.
