Apparently the phone calls did not count.
The plane tickets did not count.
The money I had quietly sent whenever Dad needed something did not count.
And the previous forty-eight hours apparently counted least of all.
I could have defended myself.
I did not.
Because Dad set his mug down with extraordinary care.
That scared me more than if he had shouted.
My father got quieter when he was truly angry.
Vanessa continued.
“Grant already has someone coming to evaluate the truck. We contacted the bank, and we’re going through Dad’s office today.”
Dad raised one eyebrow at the word office.
“And the house?” I asked.
“Obviously we’re keeping it.”
Grant called from the background.
“Might renovate the kitchen!”
They laughed together.
Dad did not.
Vanessa then informed me that she would box up whatever was left in my childhood bedroom and have Grant leave it near the garage.
Grant took over again.
“Don’t make this difficult. Don’t challenge the will or demand things that aren’t yours. Vanessa stayed close to home. She deserves this.”
I looked through the kitchen window at frost whitening the backyard.
“You made your choice years ago,” Grant continued.
Then he said the one thing that changed Dad’s face completely.
“Your father obviously knew who really loved him.”
Dad went perfectly still.
I reached for the phone, ready to end the call.
