“Marlene has always talked too much,” I said.
“He’s been asking how the library pension is paid out, Mom,” Rachel said. “He told her he was just trying to understand how estate taxes worked, but why would he ask about yours?”
I adjusted the dish towel on the rack, aligning the stripe with the edge of the wood. “Marlene might have misunderstood him.”
“Marlene didn’t misunderstand the look on his face when she told him you still owned the lake cabin outright,” Rachel said. “He’s looking for a landing pad, Mom, and you are standing right there.”
The line went quiet for a second, the distant hum of traffic on Elm Street filling the gap between us.
“I am perfectly capable of looking after myself,” I said.
“I’m coming down to Oakhaven next Sunday to have lunch with you,” Rachel said, her tone softening slightly but still carrying that rapid-fire edge. “We need to have a real talk.”
“That would be nice,” I said.
“Don’t invite Michael,” she said, and then she hung up before I could promise anything.
