The lawyer he met was named Simone Harris. She wore glasses on a chain, asked careful questions, and listened without treating Arthur like a child. When he showed her the old trust agreement, she looked at its signatures and then at the copy of the newer document Grant had left behind. "Mr. Bennett," she said, "I think we need to act before somebody records something they shouldn't." Arthur had nodded, and for the first time in weeks he had felt the floor steady beneath him.
Now, on Saturday morning, Malcolm pulled an old shoebox from the bookcase. "The buyer's inspection is scheduled," he said. "I can't keep making excuses."
"You could tell them the truth."
"And the truth is what? You won't leave a house you can't maintain?" Malcolm gestured toward the ceiling. "That upstairs bathroom leaks. The back porch is rotten. You've missed two appointments at the clinic. You put the electric bill in the freezer last month."
"I set it on the freezer while I was carrying groceries," Arthur corrected. "And you canceled those appointments because you said the truck was coming."
"That's exactly what I'm talking about. You don't even remember it the same way."
"You're telling strangers I don't know my own mind," Arthur said.
Malcolm's jaw tightened. "I'm telling them you're not safe here alone."
"Then look me in the face and tell me what you get from the sale."
Malcolm turned toward the window. It was answer enough. Arthur felt anger rise so quickly that it nearly erased everything he knew about his son. But anger had never made Malcolm honest. Arthur waited, giving him a chance to speak.
"There is money to cover your move," Malcolm said at last. "There'll be plenty left."
"Left for whom?"
"For the family."
Arthur gave a tired laugh without humor. "Son, in this room there are two people and one of them doesn't want to sell. Tell me which one needs the money."
Malcolm's face hardened. "You always do this. You hear that somebody needs help and make it a trial about whether they deserve it."
"No. I ask what the help costs."
"Mom would have understood."
Arthur's eyes moved toward Elaine's photograph. When his wife died after a long illness, the hospital had called Arthur shortly after dawn. Malcolm had been driving to a job interview in Cincinnati. Elaine, barely able to whisper, had told Arthur not to interrupt him for another false alarm. When her condition worsened, Arthur had tried to reach him, but Malcolm's phone was off. Malcolm arrived after she had gone. He never forgave his father for not calling sooner, and Arthur never stopped wondering whether he should have ignored Elaine's wishes.
"Don't speak for her," Arthur said.
"You don't get to keep her for yourself just because you were here at the end," Malcolm answered. His voice cracked on the last word. He seemed almost startled that it had escaped. Then he bent to pick up the tape, tore a strip with his teeth, and sealed a smaller box marked KITCHEN as if that could seal the conversation too.