“Yes.”
He looked at the ground.
“I suppose I do.”
The boy jumped off the birdbath and ran toward the edge of the lawn where a stray balloon had caught on a hedge. Amanda followed him, leaving us alone.
“The trustees are going to remove me,”
my father said.
“Aren’t they?”
“Probably.”
“And Diane, she’ll face questions about the money.”
He nodded.
“And you’ll be the one left holding everything.”
“Someone has to.”
“You don’t have to sound so pleased about it.”
I thought about that.
“I’m not pleased. I’m just done pretending this family is something it isn’t.”
He didn’t answer. We stood together in the fading light, watching the boy chase the balloon through the garden, while somewhere in the house behind us my mother sat alone with the wreckage of her plans.
I stayed at a hotel that night. I couldn’t face the house again. In the morning I got a text from my mother.
“We need to talk.”
I didn’t respond. An hour later, another one.
“This isn’t over.”
I turned off my phone. The lawyers called that afternoon. There were meetings to schedule, documents to review, questions about family assets and trust provisions, and what exactly I intended to do with the authority I was about to inherit. I answered what I could, promised to be available for the rest.
A week later, I drove back to Petton one last time. The house was quiet. My father had moved into a hotel downtown. My mother was staying with her sister in Hartford. The trust proceedings were ongoing, but the outcome was already decided. Neither of my parents would be managing anything for a long time. I walked through the empty rooms: the dining room where we had eaten silently through my childhood, the kitchen where my mother had made her phone calls and kept her secrets, my father’s study where he had hidden from his family behind books he never read. I stopped in my mother’s office. The locked drawer was open now, empty. Someone—maybe her lawyer, maybe just her—had taken everything. But I still had my copies.
I sat at her desk and looked out the window at the garden. The roses were blooming despite everything. Nobody had remembered to water them, but they had survived anyway.
My phone buzzed. A text from my cousin Rachel.
“Heard about the party. Are you okay?”
I thought about how to answer.
“Fine. Dealing with family stuff. Thanks for asking.”
Three dots appeared. Then another message.
“My dad’s lawyer says you might be able to help with something about the frozen accounts. Would you be willing to talk?”
I put the phone down. Outside, a delivery truck pulled up to the house. Someone getting something, someone taking something away. The world kept moving with or without the Hartley family. I picked up the phone again.
“Maybe. We’ll see.”
I put the phone in my pocket and walked out of the office, down the stairs, through the empty foyer. The grandfather clock was still ticking, keeping time for a family that no longer existed. I closed the front door behind me. The lock clicked into place. My mother was sad, but by then she clearly didn’t know who to trust.
