“I mean, when we can all discuss the situation calmly.” His tone became condescending, as if he were talking to a naughty child. “You’re upset, understandably, but this isn’t the time or place.”
“And when is the time and place, Wesley?” I spoke softly but firmly. “When you stop by my place for five minutes to ask me for money? Or when Thelma stops by for a cup of tea, glancing at her watch?”
Thelma flinched as if I’d hit her.
“It’s not fair, Mother,” she said in a shaky voice. “I’ve got the store. I’ve got things to do.”
“Everybody has things to do, dear,” I said. “But people usually make time for the ones they love.”
Reed squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. His girlfriend Audrey was staring at us all wide-eyed, clearly feeling out of place.
“Maybe I should leave,” she said quietly, leaning toward Reed.
“No, stay,” I touched her arm gently. “This has nothing to do with you, and I’m not going to make a scene like Wesley’s afraid of.”
I looked around the table.
The guests seated farther away from us had already gone back to their conversations, ignoring us. But our part of the table—my kids, their spouses, a few close friends—were all looking at me, waiting for me to continue.
“I… I just want you to know that I understand,” I continued, looking directly at Wesley and Thelma. “I realize that I’ve been a burden to you, an uncomfortable reminder that we’re all getting older.”
“I realize it’s easier to pretend I don’t exist than to admit that one day you’ll be like me.”
“Mom, that’s not true,” Wesley tried to object, but I shook my head.
“Let me finish, son. I’d been silent for a long time. Now it was my turn to speak.”
I took a sip of water, gathering my thoughts.
“I know you talk about me behind my back.”
“I know you’re discussing my deteriorating condition and senile quirks.”
“Mrs. Dawson, your neighbor,” I nodded toward Wesley and Kora, “happened to mention it when we met at the pharmacy. She was very concerned when she heard you say that I was starting to lose my mind.”
Kora turned pale.
“Edith, it wasn’t that. We’re just worried.”
“Don’t bother, dear,” I interrupted her gently. “I know the truth.”
“Just like I know that you and Wesley have already been looking at a nursing home for me.”
“Sunny Hills, isn’t it?”
“The administrator there is an old high school friend of yours, if I’m not mistaken.”
Wesley was pale now. He threw a quick glance at Kora as if asking how I could have known about it.
“It was just in case,” he muttered. “We wanted to be ready in case you needed help.”
“Without my knowledge,” I finished for him. “Without a single conversation with me about my wishes, you decided everything for me. As if I was no longer capable of making decisions for myself.”
I turned to Thelma.
“And don’t think I don’t know about your conversations with the realtor about my house, about how it might be sold when I’m gone… or when I move to a place where I’ll be taken care of.”
Thelma blushed.
“Mom, I was just wondering about the prices on the real estate market.”
“Of course you were,” I nodded. “And the fact that the realtor was looking at my house while I was at the doctor’s office was just a coincidence.”
There was a dead silence at the table.
Even the outside guests, those I didn’t know, seemed to hold their breath.
“Where did you—” Wesley started but stopped.
“How do I know?” I finished for him. “I have eyes and ears, son, and neighbors who, unlike my children, care about me.”
I pulled an envelope out of my purse—a plain white envelope, nothing remarkable, but my kids stared at it like it was a ticking bomb.
“You know, the sad thing is that you think I’m a helpless old woman who can’t take care of herself. You think I don’t see your neglect.”
“I don’t notice how you avoid my calls.”
“I don’t realize that your infrequent visits are more of an obligation than a desire.”
“Mom, it’s not like that,” Thelma tried to take my hand, but I pulled away.
“It’s exactly like that, dear.”
“And I’ve wondered why for a long time.”
“Why do my children—whom I raised with love, to whom I gave everything I could—treat me like a burden?”
And I realized it was the house.
Wesley and Thelma looked at each other.
“What do you mean, the house?” Wesley asked cautiously.
“Our family home,” I explained. “The one you grew up in. The one where every floorboard holds the memory of your childhood. The one you’re so eager to inherit.”
I opened the envelope and pulled out some documents.
“You’re both just waiting for me to either die or become so helpless that you can stick me in Sunny Hills and take over the house.”
I spread the papers out in front of me.
“You’ve never asked what I want, what my plans are. You just decided everything for me.”
“Mom, what are you talking about?” Wesley asked nervously. “What are your plans?”
I took the first document and put it on the table in front of them.
“I sold the house,” I said simply.
There was such silence you could have heard a pin drop.
Wesley froze with his glass in his hand.
Thelma made a strange sound, something between a sob and a cough.
“What do you mean, sold it?” Wesley finally squeezed out. “You couldn’t. You wouldn’t.”
“But I did,” I answered calmly. “Three days ago. Mr. Jenkins, my lawyer, arranged everything very quickly.”
“The house was bought by a young couple with two children. Lovely people, full of plans and hope. They’re going to breathe new life into it.”
“But… but what about you? Where will you live?” Thelma looked like she was about to cry.
“Oh, don’t worry about me, dear.” I smiled. “I’ve rented a small apartment near the center—near the library. You know how much I love to read.”
“An apartment?” Wesley looked at me as if I’d told him I was moving to Mars. “But… the house, it’s our family home. Dad wanted it to stay in the family.”
“Your father wanted me to be happy,” I said firmly. “And for his children to grow up to be good people.”
“One of those wishes I can fulfill.”
I took the second document.
“But as for the money from the sale of the house—”
Wesley stepped forward, his eyes glittering greedily. Even at a moment like this, all he could think about was money.
“I donated it to build a new wing of the city library,” I finished, showing him the donation document. “It will bear your father’s name. George always loved books. It’s a fitting tribute to him.”
“You what?” Wesley looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “But… uh… it’s… that’s a lot of money.”
“Yes, almost half a million dollars,” I nodded. “The house was well kept, and the neighborhood was very popular with young families.”
“And you just give it away?” Thelma looked stunned. “But, Mom, it… it could… secure your future.”
“I’ve thought about the future,” I said, pulling out a third document.
“I changed the will.”
Wesley and Thelma looked at each other again, this time with ill-concealed hope. Maybe they thought I’d left them something else. Some savings, jewelry, anything.
“Everything I have left—my personal savings, jewelry, belongings—I’m leaving to Reed.”
I put a copy of the will on the table.
“To the only member of this family who sees me not as a source of inheritance, but as a human being.”
Reed looked up, tears in his eyes.
“Grandmother, I don’t want— I don’t need to—”
“I know, sweetheart,” I said softly. “That’s exactly why you’re going to get it.”
“Don’t worry. There’s not much in there, but enough to help you get started on your own.”
I turned to the others. Their faces were a gamut of emotions—shock, disbelief, disappointment, anger.
“You thought I didn’t notice how you treated me,” I said quietly.
“You thought I was too old and stupid to understand your plans.”
“But I’ve seen it all. All these years. Every time you avoided my calls. Every time you made excuses not to visit me.”
“Every time you lied to my face.”
I put the papers back in the envelope.
