“No,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“I’m not going today.”
Another call flashed across my screen.
JESSICA.
I declined it.
“Please keep the travel credit in my account.”
“Certainly.”
“Thank you.”
I ended the call.
Then I called my attorney.
Richard Cole had handled my affairs for fourteen years.
He answered on the third ring.
“Margaret?”
“I need to change my estate documents.”
There was no surprise in his voice.
Good attorneys understand that when a client opens with those words, something has happened.
“How substantially?”
“Very.”
Richard became quiet.
“Where are you?”
“O’Hare.”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m finally paying attention.”
That answer must have told him enough.
My estate was worth approximately $5.8 million.
Kevin knew I was comfortable.
He did not know the exact number.
He knew there were investments.
He knew I owned my home outright.
He knew his father and I had saved carefully.
What he apparently believed was that all of it would eventually become his.
Until that morning, he had been right.
My existing will left nearly everything to Kevin, with smaller educational provisions for Tyler and Emma.
Kevin was also successor trustee of my revocable trust.
If something happened to me, he would eventually control almost everything.
“Remove Kevin as successor trustee,” I said.
Richard waited a moment.
“Understood.”
“Replace him with North Shore Fiduciary.”
“All right.”
“Create separate protected education trusts for Tyler and Emma.”
“We can do that.”
“They receive money for education, health needs, and eventually a portion for housing. Kevin and Jessica will not control those accounts.”
“I understand.”
“And the remainder?”
I looked across the terminal again.
Kevin was pacing now.
Jessica had her phone pressed against her ear.
Linda was arguing with someone at the airline desk.
“The children receive a reasonable portion when they’re older.”
“And Kevin?”
The question hurt more than I expected.
Because for thirty-nine years, Kevin had been my son before he had been anybody’s husband.
I remembered his first bicycle.
His broken wrist.
The night he left for college and called me from his dorm because he couldn’t sleep.
His wedding.
Tyler’s birth.
Emma sleeping against my chest when she was only six days old.
I loved him.
That had not changed.
But love and access were not the same thing.
“Remove the outright inheritance.”
Richard exhaled slowly.
“All of it?”
“Yes.”
“What happens to the remainder?”
“The children’s trusts receive part. The rest goes to the cardiac foundation we discussed last year.”
There was another silence.
“Margaret, I can prepare the amendments, but I want you to sleep on the final percentages.”
“That’s why you’re my attorney.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
My phone vibrated again.
This time, Kevin sent a message.
MOM WHAT DID YOU DO???
Then Jessica.
CALL ME NOW.
Then Kevin again.
THE HOTEL SAYS OUR RESERVATION WAS CANCELLED.
I stared at the messages.
For decades, I had responded immediately whenever Kevin needed me.
Car trouble?
Mom answered.
Tuition problem?
Mom answered.
