Chapter 13 - My Mother Left Me A Choice, Not An Instruction
Mr. Hayes found me alone in the mansion library three days before New Year's.
Margaret had moved one suitcase back upstairs.
Two remained packed.
Daniel was staying at a hotel while his attorney dealt with the investigation.
The Christmas tree was still up because nobody had enough emotional energy to remove seven hundred lights.
Mr. Hayes sat across from me.
“You wanted to know what Rebecca wanted.”
“Yes.”
“I can tell you what she told me.”
“Finally.”
“She asked me not to tell you what to do.”
I stared.
“That's the big secret?”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“She was annoyingly specific.”
“What did she say?”
He looked toward the dark windows.
“She asked me to present you with three realistic choices.”
“Which are?”
“Keep the house.”
“Okay.”
“Sell it.”
“Okay.”
“Or lease it long-term and remove yourself from daily management.”
I laughed.
“She made a menu.”
“She liked lists.”
True.
“Which did she want?”
“She refused to answer.”
“Daniel says she chose me because I'd sell.”
“She believed you could.”
“Margaret says Mom wanted the house gone.”
“Some days.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Because your mother changed her mind.”
I looked down.
“What did she say about me?”
Mr. Hayes took time.
“She said you were angry at being used as the reasonable daughter.”
My throat tightened.
“She knew.”
“Yes.”
“She kept doing it.”
“Yes.”
Good.
No posthumous perfection.
“She said Daniel was angry at being treated like the difficult son.”
“Also accurate.”
“Yes.”
“And Margaret?”
“She said Margaret had spent so long preserving Thomas that she stopped noticing which parts of him she had invented.”
That was harsh.
Also accurate.
“And herself?”
Mr. Hayes looked at me.
“She said she had used ownership to avoid conversations.”
I frowned.
“How?”
“When Daniel complained, she would say, ‘It's my house.’”
“True.”
“When Margaret challenged her, same sentence.”
I remembered.
“And me?”
“When you said sell, she told you that you didn't understand because you weren't there.”
Also true.
Mr. Hayes continued:
“She realized late that the deed could become one more version of that.”
“So why sign it?”
“Because somebody still had to own the property after she died.”
Fair.
“She considered selling before death.”
“Why didn't she?”
“Cancer moved faster than the sale process and she changed her mind twice.”
I laughed softly.
“Mom.”
“Yes.”
“So she dumped it on me.”
“She transferred it to you.”
“Elegant.”
He smiled.
Then became serious.
“She also said if you refused it, I was not to guilt you.”
That stopped me.
“I can refuse?”
“You could disclaim before taking certain actions, though we're past some simple paths now. There are still options.”
“I don't mean legally.”
“I know.”
My eyes burned unexpectedly.
“She knew I might say no.”
“Yes.”
“And she was okay with that.”
Mr. Hayes looked toward Rebecca's old chair.
“She said, ‘If Emma doesn't want the house, believe her the first time.’”
I closed my eyes.
That was almost enough to make me forgive a dead woman.
Almost.
“Why couldn't she say that to me while alive?”
“She tried to call you.”
“I know.”
“You didn't answer.”
“I know.”
No need to soften it.
I had my own part.
“When was the last call?”
“March seventh.”
The day before the false death date.
I remembered seeing her name.
Letting it ring.
I thought I knew what she wanted.
Help with Margaret.
Help with Daniel.
Help deciding which repair mattered.
Maybe she had wanted to say something else.
I would never know.
Mr. Hayes did not tell me I should forgive myself.
Good.
I asked:
“What happens to Daniel?”
“Investigation continues.”
“Charges?”
“Possible.”
“Margaret?”
“Her affidavit is part of it.”
“Could she be charged?”
“Possible.”
Grounded uncertainty.
“And title?”
“Your death record is flagged as fraudulent. The property remains in your name while the county corrects the record.”
“So I'm alive enough to pay taxes.”
“Extremely.”
I laughed.
Then:
“What would you do?”
He frowned.
“With the house?”
“Yes.”
“You just heard your mother's instruction.”
“I'm asking you.”
He considered.
“I would stop asking dead people to decide.”
Annoyingly good.
He stood.
At the door I stopped him.
“Arthur.”
“Yes?”
“Did Mom love Daniel?”
His face changed.
“Very much.”
“Margaret?”
“Yes.”
“Me?”
He almost looked offended.
“Yes.”
I stared at the room.
“Then how did this get so ugly?”
Mr. Hayes looked toward the staircase.
“Love survived.”
He opened the door.
May you like
“Listening did not.”
He left before I could decide whether I liked that answer.
