Chapter 7 - The Petition That Didn’t Exist Yet
Evelyn recommended a cognitive evaluation.
Margaret was insulted.
Then furious.
Then she understood.
“If they try to claim you lack capacity, contemporaneous independent medical evidence helps,” Evelyn explained.
“So I have to prove I’m sane because they’ve been planning for me to become incompetent?”
“No.”
Evelyn leaned forward.
“You do not have to prove your humanity. But legal disputes are easier when evidence exists before accusations.”
Margaret hated that.
She agreed.
Dr. Helen Carmichael, a geriatric neuropsychologist in Boston, spent nearly four hours evaluating Margaret.
Memory.
Reasoning.
Language.
Executive function.
Financial decision-making.
Margaret left exhausted and offended by a task involving remembering random words beginning with F.
Two days later, Dr. Carmichael called.
“Your performance is entirely consistent with independent decision-making.”
Margaret sat back.
“Entirely?”
“You have mild age-typical retrieval delays. You also appear to be grieving.”
“That hardly required four hours.”
The doctor laughed.
“No.”
The formal report stated that Margaret demonstrated intact capacity and understood the nature and consequences of financial and property decisions.
Evelyn placed a copy in her files.
“Insurance.”
Margaret hated that word too.
Meanwhile, Eric became increasingly pleasant.
Too pleasant.
He repaired a loose terrace board.
Brought Margaret coffee.
Asked whether she needed help scheduling maintenance.
Margaret refused all of it.
Sophie watched the adults carefully.
At dinner three nights later, she accidentally dropped a fork.
The sound was small.
Eric snapped immediately.
“Can you not do anything without making noise?”
Sophie froze.
Margaret looked at him.
Eric realized.
“What?”
Margaret said, “She dropped a fork.”
“So?”
“You spoke to her like she broke a window.”
Laura sighed.
“Mom, don’t.”
Margaret looked at Sophie.
“Pick it up, sweetheart.”
Sophie did.
“Get another from the drawer.”
The girl left.
Eric shook his head.
“This is exactly why kids are disrespectful. Nobody corrects them.”
Margaret looked at him.
“Correction and contempt are different.”
Eric laughed.
“Now I’m contemptuous?”
“Yes.”
Laura stood.
“I cannot do this every night.”
“Then don’t.”
Margaret returned to her soup.
Laura stared.
“Unbelievable.”
Sophie returned with another fork.
Nobody spoke.
Later that evening, Sophie came to Margaret’s room.
“Can I sleep here?”
Margaret looked up from a book.
“Why?”
Sophie shrugged.
“Can I?”
Margaret thought of boundaries.
“Did you ask your parents?”
“Mom’s mad.”
“At you?”
“Everybody.”
Margaret set down the book.
“You can stay for a little while. Then we’ll talk to your mother.”
Sophie climbed onto the window seat.
After several minutes she said, “Dad loses stuff.”
Margaret looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
“Money.”
Margaret’s pulse changed.
“Sophie, you don’t need to worry about adult money.”
“I know.”
The girl picked at a cushion seam.
“He yells when Mom asks.”
Margaret stayed quiet.
Sophie continued.
“They fight at night.”
Margaret hated the image.
“What do they say?”
Sophie shrugged.
“I don’t know.”
Then, after a pause:
“Dad said if you don’t sign, everything is over.”
Margaret’s jaw tightened.
“Did he say what he wanted signed?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
She did not question Sophie further.
Children were not evidence machines.
She made herself remember that.
Instead she walked Sophie back to Laura.
At the doorway, Margaret said quietly, “She’s hearing too much.”
Laura looked exhausted.
“I know.”
“Then change what she is hearing.”
Laura’s face tightened.
“You think you’re suddenly the perfect parent?”
“No.”
Margaret answered without hesitation.
“I made mistakes with you.”
Laura seemed startled.
Margaret continued.
“One of them was letting your father and me argue about money where you could hear.”
Laura’s anger softened slightly.
“So I am telling you from experience. Sophie should not be carrying Eric’s fear about losing everything.”
Laura looked toward the bedroom where Sophie had gone.
“I don’t know how to stop it.”
Margaret almost offered to solve the problem.
Then stopped herself.
“That is something you and Eric need to decide.”
The following morning, Evelyn called.
“We have movement.”
“What?”
“A court-record search flagged a draft guardianship consultation.”
Margaret went cold.
“Draft?”
“Nothing has been filed.”
“By whom?”
“A law firm representing Eric.”
Margaret gripped the phone.
“Representing Eric or Laura?”
“Eric.”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“What was the consultation about?”
“Potential petition for temporary conservatorship over an elderly family member.”
Margaret laughed once.
“I suppose that would be me.”
“We cannot prove that yet.”
“Evelyn.”
“No assumptions.”
Margaret heard the attorney’s discipline.
Evidence.
Not rage.
Evelyn continued.
“The good news is nothing has been filed.”
“And the bad?”
“They were researching it before the dinner.”
Margaret stared toward the sea.
Before Sophie poured the water.
Before Margaret walked out.
Before anyone could pretend her reaction created this conflict.
“Do I confront him?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to know what he does when he thinks you don’t know.”
Margaret disliked the strategy.
Then understood it.
“Fine.”
That afternoon, Eric knocked on her study door.
“Can we talk?”
Margaret let him in.
He sat opposite her.
“I think we got off track.”
Margaret waited.
“I’m under pressure.”
“I know.”
Eric’s expression changed.
“How?”
“Henry knew.”
The color drained from his face.
Margaret continued.
“He knew about Harbor Point.”
Eric stood.
“What exactly did he leave you?”
Margaret looked at him.
Not I didn’t do anything.
Not what are you talking about?
What did Henry leave you?
Margaret’s answer was simple.
“Enough.”
Eric walked toward the door.
Then turned back.
“You have no idea what he was like with me.”
“Tell me.”
“He treated me like a thief from the first day Laura brought me here.”
“Did you ask him for money?”
“That isn’t theft.”
“Did you ask to borrow against Seabriar?”
Eric’s jaw tightened.
“He refused to understand how capital works.”
Margaret almost smiled.
“He built a construction company from a truck and six employees.”
“He was old-fashioned.”
“Perhaps.”
She folded her hands.
“But he understood the word no.”
Eric stared at her.
Then his expression changed.
Softened.
Calculated.
“Margaret, I am genuinely worried about you.”
There it was.
She felt almost disappointed by how predictable it was.
“Are you?”
“You’re grieving. You disappeared overnight. You’re locking rooms. Hiring lawyers. Accusing people.”
“I am responding to documents.”
“What documents?”
He leaned forward.
“Henry filled your head with suspicion before he died.”
“Henry is not controlling me from beyond the grave.”
“No?”
Eric’s voice dropped.
“Then why are you letting a dead man destroy your living family?”
Margaret stood.
The conversation was over.
Eric rose too.
At the door he said, “You should talk to someone.”
“I did.”
He turned.
Margaret smiled.
“A neuropsychologist.”
For one magnificent second, Eric had no expression at all.
Then Margaret knew.
May you like
He had been counting on something else.
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