“I was not taking her things,” he said. “She asked me to pack them. She wants the house prepared before she goes into hospice.”
I glanced at the will again.
“And she wants you to have everything.”
He shook his head.
“I told her I don’t want it.”
Marjorie managed a small laugh.
“He has argued with me every day.”
“Because I came for answers,” Owen said. “Not money.”
She looked at him with a tenderness I had never seen on her face.
“You came because some part of you hoped your mother had been loved.”
Owen’s eyes filled.
“She was,” Marjorie whispered. “Every day of her life.”
He bowed his head.
I moved closer to Marjorie and carefully wrapped my arms around her. She felt fragile, but she held me with surprising strength.
“I am sorry I came in without permission,” I said.
She rested her cheek against mine.
