Graham looked at me sharply.
“She sold that?”
“Yes.”
Margaret had never told them.
She had not wanted gratitude.
She had only wanted them to be safe.
Phoebe lowered herself into a chair.
“I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t ask,” I replied.
The room became quiet.
Julian walked to the window. He stared outside for several seconds before speaking.
“We’re not monsters, Dad.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
“You think we are.”
“I think grief revealed something ugly in this family.”
He turned around.
“We were scared.”
“Of what?”
“Of everything changing.”
His voice cracked.
“Mom was always the one who held us together. Then she was gone. You looked so weak at the funeral. None of us knew what would happen next.”
Graham gave a bitter laugh.
“So we started talking about money. That’s what we do when we don’t want to talk about feelings.”
I looked at him.
It was the first honest thing he had said since entering the house.
Phoebe wiped her face.
“I thought if we handled the house and the will, we could control something,” she admitted. “I knew it sounded cold. I just kept telling myself we were being practical.”
“Practical people ask whether their father has eaten.”
She nodded slowly.
“I know.”
For the first time, none of them tried to defend themselves.
I picked up the bracelet.
“I took this from beside the coffin after I heard you. I could not bear the thought of one of you slipping it into a pocket.”
Phoebe flinched.
“Does it still have Mom’s engraving?”
I turned the bracelet over.
Inside the clasp were four small words.
“Young and reckless again.”
Margaret had added them years after I gave it to her. I had forgotten until the funeral director handed the bracelet back to me.
My throat tightened.
“She remembered everything,” I said.
Graham sat down.
“So the car was revenge?”
“At first, perhaps.”
I looked toward the driveway, though the car had not arrived yet.
“I wanted to shock you. I wanted you to feel the fear of losing money you had already claimed.”
Julian folded his arms.
“And the trips?”
“Those are not revenge.”
“You’re really going?”
“Yes.”
Phoebe stared at me.
“Alone?”
“I may be alone, but I am still alive.”
The words surprised all of us.
They surprised me most.
For three months, I had behaved as though my life had ended with Margaret’s.
