The love remains.
It simply has nowhere safe to go.
David whispered, “Are you going to disinherit me?”
I almost smiled at the question.
Even then.
Money.
“I already changed the estate.”
His face fell.
“When?”
“Before Thanksgiving.”
“Because of me?”
“Because I no longer trusted you with authority over my life.”
He looked at Richard’s chair.
“Dad would hate me.”
I felt tears rise.
“Your father would be heartbroken.”
“That isn’t better.”
“No.”
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He wiped his face.
“Do I get anything?”
I stared at him.
“Do you understand how terrible that question sounds right now?”
He closed his eyes.
“God.”
Then he whispered, “You’re right.”
I carried the plates into the kitchen.
David followed.
“I’ll cooperate.”
“With the police?”
“With everything.”
“That is your decision.”
“I’ll tell them what I know.”
“Good.”
“I didn’t forge your name.”
“I believe that.”
He looked at me hopefully.
“But you participated in the plan.”
His hope disappeared.
“Yes.”
“You will need to live with whatever comes from that.”
He nodded.
For the first time all evening, he looked less like a frightened child and more like an adult facing something of his own making.
He picked up a dish towel.
“Can I help?”
I almost said no.
Then I handed him a plate.
We cleaned the kitchen without speaking.
At 10:17, David left.
I locked the door behind him.
Then I went upstairs.
I sat on the bathroom floor and cried harder than I had cried since Richard’s funeral.
The next six months were ugly.
