Stuart’s cruelty had made me act sooner. It had not made the choice for me.
Over the next several days, I worked quietly. I informed the bank and my investment firm of the change. I made an appointment with my own doctor and told her, directly, that my son and daughter-in-law were discussing my mental capacity without my consent.
She listened. She documented what I said. She offered to review any concerns about my health with me, in my presence.
I left with my keys, my records, and the strange feeling of having recovered a little ground.
At home, I packed one room at a time.
Photographs first. Then my books. I wrapped Mother’s china in dish towels and placed each piece in a box marked kitchen. Robert’s tools took longer. I kept finding small things in his workbench drawers: a bent nail, a pencil worn almost to nothing, a brass hinge he had meant to repair.
Some evenings I packed until my back hurt. Other evenings I sat on the study floor and held something he had touched.
I rented a small apartment near the town library. It had two bedrooms, a balcony wide enough for pots of basil, and an elevator. I could walk to the grocery store. I had seen it months earlier while visiting a former colleague, and I had kept the leasing office’s number in my handbag.
I had called them before I called Martha.
I wondered what Stuart would think if he knew that. He had spoken of my future as though I had failed to notice it approaching.
On Monday, Lily came to the door.
She stood on the porch with her backpack still on one shoulder.
“Dad said you were looking at Cedar Grove,” she said.
“I looked at a brochure.”
“He said you liked it.”
I opened the door wider. “Come in.”
She followed me into the kitchen, where two packing boxes sat beneath the window. I saw her eyes go to them.
“You’re moving?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
“I’m still working out what to tell everyone.”
Lily put her backpack on the floor. At sixteen, she had Robert’s dark eyes and Stuart’s habit of twisting a napkin when she was anxious.
“Are you moving because of Thanksgiving?”
“That dinner made some things clearer.”
She looked down. “I should’ve said something when Dad yelled at you.”
“You and Max were frightened.”
“I wasn’t too frightened to know it was wrong.”
