Chapter 4 - THE APPOINTMENT MADE IN MY NAME
Patrice arrived at ten that morning.
She used the key I had given her years earlier.
I heard the front door open while I was sitting at the kitchen table with the printed Evergreen Harbor application.
“Mom?”
She entered carrying flowers and a bakery box.
Her face brightened when she saw me.
“Happy belated birthday.”
I looked at the flowers.
Yellow roses.
Thomas used to buy them.
Patrice knew that.
She placed the box beside the covered lemon cake.
“I brought cupcakes.”
“I already have cake.”
Her smile became uncertain.
“Of course.”
She looked toward the papers.
“What are those?”
“The application for Evergreen Harbor.”
The color left her face.
“Where did you get that?”
“The account uses my email address.”
Patrice sat down slowly.
“Mom, we were going to talk to you.”
“When?”
“Next week.”
“After I got over my birthday?”
Her eyes filled with tears.
“What does that mean?”
“I saw the family messages.”
Patrice closed her eyes.
“Oh, God.”
“Which part frightens you?”
“That I saw them or that you wrote them?”
“I didn’t write the cruel things.”
“You wrote that I never agreed to move.”
“I was defending you.”
“You remained inside the conversation.”
“I was trying to slow them down.”
I opened the power-of-attorney draft.
“Did you know about this?”
She stared at it.
“I knew Daniel spoke to a lawyer.”
“Did you know you were assigned my medical decisions?”
“He said it was just planning.”
“Planning requires the person whose life is being planned.”
Patrice began crying.
“I was worried about you.”
“Why?”
“You’re alone in this house.”
“You have given away so much money.”
“You forget things.”
“What have I forgotten?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I waited.
“You missed Ethan’s birthday call last month,” she said finally.
“I was at a dental appointment.”
“You forgot where you put Dad’s insurance forms.”
“They were inside the file cabinet where they have always been.”
“Daniel said you sounded confused on the phone.”
“Daniel called while I was asleep.”
Patrice looked toward the tablecloth.
“Mom, we aren’t trying to hurt you.”
“You completed an application that calls me cognitively vulnerable.”
“We were trying to create options.”
“You selected a move-in date.”
“That was only to reserve availability.”
“You assigned control of my money.”
“We thought it would be easier if something happened.”
“Something already happened.”
She looked up.
“What?”
“Your father died.”
“I became lonely.”
“And instead of visiting, you began discussing where to place me.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“No.”
“It isn’t.”
I slid the papers toward her.
“I want your key.”
Patrice stared at me.
“The house key?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t trust me?”
“I trusted all three of you without verification.”
“I am correcting that.”
She removed the key from her ring.
Her fingers trembled as she placed it on the table.
Before leaving, she looked at the eleven chairs.
“I really am sorry about yesterday.”
I believed that part.
Regret and entitlement can exist inside the same person.
May you like
“I know,” I said.
“That does not make it all right.”
