Chapter 4
The next morning,
the phone calls started at 6:00 AM.
My phone buzzed against the nightstand.
I didn't answer.
I knew it was Marjorie.
I knew it was the lawyers.
I knew it was the vultures,
circling again,
looking for a chink in the armor.
I turned the phone off.
I walked to the kitchen.
I made coffee.
I watched the sun rise over the ridge.
I felt a strange, detached calm.
I had done what needed to be done.
I had reclaimed my space.
But the war wasn't over.
It had only moved to a new front.
I heard a car pull into the driveway.
I didn't reach for the phone this time.
I went to the front window.
It was Bradley’s lawyer,
Mr. Gable.
He looked serious.
I opened the door before he could knock.
"I heard about last night," he said,
his voice low.
"I assume you have the police report?"
"I do," I said.
"They tried to take everything."
"I know."
He stepped inside.
He looked at the empty suitcases in the hallway.
"They won't stop, you know.
This is about money,
but it’s also about pride.
Marjorie has never been told 'no' in her life.
She’s certainly never been told 'no' by a woman she considers a social inferior."
"What do I do?" I asked.
"We file a suit for harassment and theft," he said.
"We make it clear that any attempt to enter the property will result in immediate prosecution."
"Can we do that?"
"We have the legal standing.
The trust is absolute.
Bradley was a genius,
or perhaps just a man who loved his wife very much.
He anticipated every contingency."
"He knew them," I said.
"He knew them better than he knew himself."
Mr. Gable smiled.
"He was a difficult man,
but he had a sense of justice that was rare in his family."
"Why didn't he tell me?"
"He didn't want you to worry.
He wanted your last months together to be about us,
not about the mess he was leaving behind."
That made me ache.
He had carried the burden alone.
He had laid the mines,
and he had let me walk the path.
"I want to sell the watches," I said.
Mr. Gable looked surprised.
"The watches?
Why?"
"I don't want them in the house.
I don't want them to be a temptation for Siobhan,
or a bargaining chip for Marjorie.
I want them gone.
I want the money to go to a charity in Bradley’s name.
Something they would hate."
Mr. Gable’s eyes twinkled.
"I know a foundation.
Research for the very disease that took him."
"Yes," I said.
"Let them know that their 'assets' are funding the cure."
"I’ll handle the logistics," he said.
"But you need to be prepared for the fallout.
Marjorie will be furious."
"Good," I said.
"Let her be furious."
He left,
leaving me with a sense of purpose.
I had a plan.
I had a target.
I had a weapon.
I went back to the living room.
I looked at the labeled piles they had left behind.
I didn't see junk anymore.
I saw the skeleton of a family that had rotted from the inside out.
I went to the basement.
I found the boxes of their 'family history' they had stored there.
Old photos,
awards,
letters.
I opened one.
I saw a picture of Marjorie as a young woman.
She looked so innocent.
How did she become this?
Did she always have this capacity for cruelty?
Or was it something she learned?
Maybe it didn't matter.
Maybe the 'why' was less important than the 'what.'
And what was clear:
they were not coming back.
I started shredding.
I didn't feel bad about it.
It felt like cleansing.
I was shredding their history.
I was shredding their influence.
I was shredding the parts of Bradley’s life that were tainted by them.
By noon,
the basement was full of paper snow.
I felt exhausted,
but it was a good exhaustion.
It was the exhaustion of someone who had done their duty.
I went upstairs.
I made myself a sandwich.
I ate it in the garden.
The wind was blowing,
shaking the trees,
bringing down the first yellow leaves of autumn.
May you like
It was the beginning of the end of the year.
I was ready for winter.
