Chapter 11 - Laura Without Eric
Laura had been married to Eric for sixteen years.
Without him, she did not know how to make certain decisions.
Which mechanic to call.
How much insurance they had.
Where their retirement accounts were held.
Which school expenses were on autopay.
Margaret watched with a mixture of sympathy and frustration.
“You let him handle everything.”
Laura bristled.
“So did you with Dad.”
“Some things.”
“Most investments.”
“Yes.”
Laura crossed her arms.
“Then why is it different when I did it?”
Margaret paused.
A good question.
“It isn’t entirely.”
Laura looked surprised.
Margaret continued.
“The difference is that when Henry died, I discovered I knew enough to rebuild the picture.”
She looked at her daughter.
“Do you?”
Laura’s anger disappeared.
“No.”
Margaret sat beside her.
“Then start.”
They spent two hours creating a list.
Accounts.
Debts.
Insurance.
Property.
School costs.
Legal fees.
Margaret did not take over.
When Laura asked, “What should I do?” Margaret often responded:
“What are the options?”
Laura found that infuriating.
Then useful.
Her divorce attorney uncovered another unpleasant fact.
Eric had borrowed $180,000 from his own company retirement plan and used it to keep Harbor Point operating.
Perfectly legal under the plan structure.
Terrible financially.
Laura’s expected retirement security was far smaller than she believed.
She cried in Margaret’s kitchen.
“I’m forty-six.”
“You are.”
“I have nothing.”
“You have a job.”
Laura had stopped working in marketing eight years earlier.
“No, I don’t.”
“You have experience.”
“Old experience.”
“You have a degree.”
“Old degree.”
Margaret smiled faintly.
“Do degrees expire now?”
Laura glared.
“I hate when you do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make terrifying things sound manageable.”
Margaret stopped smiling.
“They are not manageable because I say so.”
She took Laura’s hand.
“They become manageable because you start.”
Laura applied for jobs.
The first six applications produced no interviews.
The seventh produced one.
She did not get it.
The tenth led to a part-time communications role for a regional museum.
The salary embarrassed her.
Margaret refused to let it.
“You are comparing it to Eric’s income from five years ago.”
“Yes.”
“Which was partly built on debt.”
Laura stared.
Then laughed bitterly.
“Fine.”
She took the job.
Sophie seemed happier in the smaller apartment.
That surprised everyone except perhaps Sophie.
She had her own room.
Laura made breakfast.
They walked to a nearby café.
Nothing had to look impressive.
Eric saw Sophie under a temporary parenting agreement worked out through attorneys.
There were no allegations that he had physically harmed her.
Laura did not try to cut him off.
But their conversations about finances stayed away from Sophie.
That boundary was written into the parenting plan after Sophie’s therapist recommended it.
Eric hated the therapist.
Sophie liked her.
Margaret liked that more.
One Saturday, Sophie asked Margaret about Henry’s hidden room.
“Mom says Grandpa kept secrets.”
“He did.”
“Was that bad?”
Margaret thought.
“Sometimes.”
Sophie looked confused.
“He was trying to help you.”
“Yes.”
“And it was still bad?”
“Some of it.”
Margaret sat beside her in the garden.
“He should have told me earlier what he knew.”
“Why didn’t he?”
“He thought I had too much to handle.”
Sophie frowned.
“That sounds nice.”
“It was loving.”
Margaret nodded.
“And also unfair.”
“How can it be both?”
“Most people are both many things.”
Sophie considered this.
Margaret continued.
“Your grandfather protected me in one way and took a choice away in another.”
“Did you forgive him?”
“He died before I knew.”
“That’s not fair.”
“No.”
Margaret smiled sadly.
“But I can love him and still be angry.”
Sophie looked toward the house.
“Can you love Mom and be angry?”
“Yes.”
“Dad?”
Margaret paused.
“I care about what happens to your father because he matters to you.”
That was the truth.
Not love.
Not hatred.
Sophie nodded.
Then asked the question Margaret had expected eventually.
“Are you leaving the house to Mom?”
Margaret stared.
“Why?”
“Kids at school talk about inheritance.”
“Eleven-year-olds?”
“Twelve now.”
Margaret smiled.
“Terribly sophisticated.”
Sophie waited.
Margaret answered honestly.
“I haven’t decided.”
“Would Mom be mad?”
“Maybe.”
“Would Dad?”
“Almost certainly.”
Sophie laughed.
Margaret continued.
“But my will is not a popularity contest.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means I am going to decide what happens to my things based on what I believe is responsible, not on who behaves nicely hoping to receive them.”
Sophie became serious.
“So even if I’m really good, you might not give me the house?”
“Correct.”
“Wow.”
Margaret laughed.
“Disappointed?”
“A little.”
At least the girl was honest.
Margaret pulled her close.
“You know what I do want to leave you?”
“What?”
“The certainty that you never have to humiliate someone to prove you belong somewhere.”
Sophie’s face changed.
The old dinner returned between them.
“I know.”
Margaret kissed her hair.
“That is worth more than a house.”
Sophie looked at Seabriar.
“I don’t know.”
Margaret laughed so loudly a gardener looked over.
May you like
Henry would have laughed too.
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