Chapter 7 - What They Thought I Would Leave Behind
I could not read the notebook standing up.
My knees gave out before my pride did.
Margaret pulled a chair behind me.
The deputy photographed each page before we touched anything else.
The notebook was not a diary.
It was a plan.
My house outside San Antonio.
The lake property.
Two investment accounts.
The mineral rights Richard inherited from his father.
My life insurance.
Beside each asset, David had written notes.
Sell after probate.
Move Elena to assisted living if necessary.
Get physician letter re: memory?
I stopped there.
“What physician letter?”
Margaret’s face tightened.
She flipped ahead.
There were names of doctors.
One was mine.
Dr. Patel.
Next to his name: probably no.
Another name I did not recognize had a check mark beside it.
My stomach turned.
“Were they going to say I was incompetent?”
Margaret answered carefully.
“They were at least discussing it.”
The deputy asked, “Ma’am, have you signed any recent powers of attorney?”
“No.”
“Guardianship papers?”
“No.”
“Anything related to medical decision-making?”
I almost said no again.
Then I remembered a stack of papers Laura had brought me after my minor surgery eight months earlier.
She had said they were hospital forms.
I had been groggy.
I had signed in three places.
My face must have changed.
Margaret leaned toward me.
“What?”
I told her.
She stood immediately.
“We need copies of everything you signed.”
My phone rang.
Michael.
I answered on speaker.
“Mom, what the hell are you doing?”
I looked at the black notebook.
“What do you think I’m doing?”
“David said you brought cops to the lake house.”
“It’s my house.”
“You know what I mean.”
“No, Michael. I don’t think I do anymore.”
He blew out a breath.
“This is insane. David made improvements. Everybody agreed the lake place would go to Laura eventually.”
“Did everybody agree I was going into assisted living too?”
Silence.
Margaret’s eyes locked on mine.
“Michael?” I said.
He sounded different when he answered.
“Where did you hear that?”
“Did you know?”
“No.”
But it was too fast.
I had raised him.
I knew his lies.
“Michael.”
He swore softly.
Then he said, “Mom, you need to come home. We should all sit down before you do something you can’t undo.”
I looked out at the dark lake.
“What did I sign after surgery?”
He said nothing.
“What did Laura have me sign?”
Another silence.
Then Michael whispered, “Oh God.”
May you like
And hung up.
