Chapter 6 - Margaret Signed A Lie Because She Wanted The House To Stay Still
Margaret was taking ornaments off the Christmas tree when I returned.
It was December twenty-sixth.
The tree had been decorated for three weeks.
“What are you doing?”
She did not turn.
“Packing.”
“Christmas ended twelve hours ago.”
“For you.”
She placed a glass bird in tissue paper.
“What does that mean?”
“It means you will sell the house.”
“You don't know that.”
“You've wanted it gone for years.”
“I said that once.”
“You meant it.”
“I was angry.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“Convenient discovery.”
I watched her wrap another ornament.
“Did you supply the death certificate to Hollis?”
Her hands stopped.
“No.”
“Did you know it existed on December eighteenth?”
“No.”
“Did Daniel?”
“I don't know.”
“Did you sign the affidavit?”
“Yes.”
“What did you believe it was for?”
She put the ornament down.
“A court challenge.”
“Against me.”
“Against Rebecca's decision.”
“Same effect.”
“No.”
Margaret turned.
Her eyes were red.
Not from crying in front of me.
Probably not sleeping.
“I never wanted Daniel to own all of this.”
That surprised me.
“What did you want?”
“For no one to sell it.”
I almost laughed.
“So ownership was secondary.”
“Yes.”
At least she knew.
“Why sign something saying I was unreachable before Mom died?”
“You were.”
“I called Mom February twenty-eighth.”
“You didn't call again.”
“March eighth isn't February twenty-eighth.”
“I know.”
“You received a text from me after the funeral.”
“Yes.”
“So you knew I was alive.”
“Yes.”
“Then why sign?”
Margaret looked at the staircase.
“Because Daniel said the affidavit only established that no one in the household could confirm your location during Rebecca's last days.”
“Was that what it said?”
“Mostly.”
“Mostly is doing incredible work.”
She looked irritated.
Good.
“What did you omit?”
“One line.”
“What line?”
Her jaw tightened.
“I stated that I had no reason to believe you were alive on March eighth.”
I stared.
“You had every reason.”
“You hadn't answered anyone.”
“That is not death.”
“I know.”
“When did you know it was wrong?”
“Before I signed.”
There.
No excuse.
“Why?”
Margaret's face twisted.
“Because I was afraid.”
“Of me?”
“Yes.”
That answer stopped me.
“Why?”
“You walked out after the funeral.”
“I was being screamed at.”
“You always leave.”
I stared.
“So?”
“So Rebecca died. Thomas died. My marriage ended. Daniel moves in and out like this is a hotel. You live in Chicago and tell everyone the house is the disease.”
Her voice rose.
“And then Arthur says you are coming Christmas night because Rebecca left you something.”
“And you thought I would take it.”
“I knew.”
“You didn't know it was the house.”
“I suspected.”
“And your answer was to help create doubt about whether I was alive.”
Margaret looked ashamed now.
“Yes.”
The honesty was almost more infuriating.
“What did Daniel tell you would happen?”
“A title hearing.”
“And?”
“He said a judge would decide whether Rebecca's deed should stand.”
“Based on me being dead.”
“He told me the death issue was part of the record search.”
“Did you ask what that meant?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because I did not want the answer.”
Better.
I sat on the arm of the sofa.
Margaret remained by the tree.
“Why does this place matter that much?”
She looked offended by the question.
Then tired.
“My father nearly lost it when I was nineteen.”
I had never heard that.
“What happened?”
“Bad investments. Too much debt.”
“Then?”
“Thomas stayed home from college for a year and worked.”
“My father.”
“Yes.”
“You?”
“I worked too.”
“What did you do?”
“Everything people with money pretend isn't work.”
She almost smiled.
“Bookkeeping for my father. Hosted donor dinners. Sold jewelry my grandmother left me.”
I stared.
“You sold jewelry to keep the house.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because I was nineteen and stupid.”
That answer surprised me.
“Would you do it now?”
Margaret looked around.
“Apparently I would do worse.”
There was nothing to add.
She picked up another ornament.
“Thomas told me once I'd always have a room here.”
My throat tightened.
Daniel had said almost the same thing.
“He said that to Daniel too.”
“I know.”
“Neither of you heard ‘room.’”
Margaret closed her eyes.
“No.”
We stood inside three generations of people converting hospitality into title.
Then I asked:
“Did Mom ever ask you to leave?”
Margaret looked at me.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After you moved to Chicago.”
“Why?”
“Because we were fighting.”
“About?”
“Daniel. You. The house.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“She changed her mind.”
“Did she?”
Margaret took too long.
“Margaret.”
“She stopped asking.”
Not the same.
“Why?”
“She got sick.”
My stomach tightened.
“So you stayed because asking became harder for her.”
Margaret's face hardened.
“I cared for her.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
I took a breath.
“I also know caregiving does not automatically make every choice yours.”
She looked away.
Then a car pulled into the circular drive.
Not Daniel.
A black sedan.
Mr. Hayes got out with a woman I didn't recognize.
Margaret looked through the window.
“Who is that?”
“I don't know.”
The woman came in carrying a slim laptop bag.
Mr. Hayes introduced her as Dana Pike, a title examiner his office had used for years.
She declined coffee.
Good sign.
She looked at Margaret.
Then me.
“I’ve traced one part of the December eighteenth submission.”
My stomach tightened.
“What part?”
“The request that started the death-record search.”
“Who made it?”
Dana looked toward the carriage house.
“Not Daniel.”
Margaret slowly sat.
“Then who?”
Dana opened her bag but did not pull out a stack of magical answers.
“One of the requests came from an email address registered to Rebecca Carter.”
May you like
My mother had been dead for nine months.
Someone had been using her email to build a case that I died before she did.
Related Stories
