“Then explain it.”
A faint sound came through the line, a door closing maybe, or someone moving in another room. I imagined her stepping away from the dining room, away from the ruined candles and polished glasses, away from Whitney and my father and Daniel’s confused family.
“You should not have involved outsiders,” she said.
I felt something in me go still.
“Outsiders?” I repeated. “Daniel found it in your entry table. Uncle Richard was named trustee. I’m the person listed in the document. Which outsider are you talking about?”
My mother inhaled sharply.
“You have always done this,” she said, but the accusation lacked its usual strength. “You take pieces of things and build stories around them.”
For once, the old script did not work.
“I was in a hospital bed asking for help,” I said. “Dad hung up on me.”
“That was unfortunate.”
The word struck me almost harder than anger would have.
