Chapter 8 - Two Thirteen
“Mom?”
It was Matthew.
I turned on the lamp.
He looked terrible. Bare feet. Sweatshirt. Eyes red from lack of sleep.
“What are you doing?”
“Can I come in?”
“You already did.”
He closed the door behind him.
For a long moment, he stood beside George's side of the bed and stared at the floor.
Then he said, “Jessica wants to file for emergency guardianship.”
I felt the room narrow.
“When?”
“Monday.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Because tonight with the police was supposed to be proof.”
“You knew?”
“I knew she wanted a record of arguments. I didn't know she would break a glass and say you threw it.”
I wanted to believe the distinction mattered.
It didn't matter enough.
“How much of this plan was yours?”
He sat in the chair near the window.
“The money part.”
At least he did not insult me with a lie.
“We thought if I had power of attorney, I could borrow against the house, pay everything off, then make the payments.”
“And the assisted-living facility?”
“I didn't think it would be permanent.”
I stared at my son.
“You were going to remove me from my home, borrow against it, and call that temporary?”
He covered his face.
“I was scared.”
“So was your father when he was dying. He still knew right from wrong.”
Matthew started crying.
For a few seconds I saw the little boy who used to climb into our bed during thunderstorms.
Then I remembered the forged form.
Love can survive disappointment.
Trust does not survive automatically.
“Why Monday?”
“Jessica has someone willing to write a statement that you're unsafe.”
“Who?”
“I don't know. She said she had a professional.”
I stood. “You need to tell Evelyn everything.”
His face snapped up. “No.”
“Then leave my room.”
“If Jessica finds out I told you—”
“What? She'll make you homeless? Matthew, she already made you dishonest.”
He flinched.
I opened the door.
He stopped beside me. “There's something else.”
I waited.
“She has copies of your medication list.”
My stomach tightened.
“Why?”
“I don't know.”
After he left, I went to the bathroom and pulled my plastic medicine basket from under the sink.
The bottles looked normal.
Then I noticed the white blood-pressure tablets inside one bottle were a different shape than usual.
I did not take them.
At eight the next morning, my pharmacist examined the bottle and went pale.
May you like
“Mrs. Hale,” he said, “these are not the medication printed on this label.”
They Moved Into My House While I Was Away - Then I Found Their Plan for Me
