Part 6
“Does seeing the children depend on what I say about the money?”
Ben looked at Rachel. “Could we have a minute?”
“I asked her to be here,” I said. “I’d like her to stay.”
He pulled the sheet closer to him. It contained repayment figures, written in his hand, with a total at the bottom. I recognized the careful numerals I’d taught him when he was learning to fill out checks.
“Neal has worked out a schedule,” he said. “You wouldn’t have to hand us cash. You’d guarantee the financing, and we’d make the payments. Once it’s in place, we could withdraw the petition.”
“What if I don’t guarantee it?”
“Then we still have a problem.”
“With my ability to take care of myself?”
“With everything, Dad.”
He pushed the paper toward me. There was a small shaving cut beneath his chin and a patch of stubble along his jaw. June used to leave a clean towel beside the sink when he stayed with us, long after he was grown.
I wanted to ask whether he was sleeping.
“You helped me get through school,” he said. “You helped when Lucy was born. When we needed somewhere to live. Why is this where you stop?”
“You asked me for those things.”
“I’m asking now.”
“After you signed my name and told people I couldn’t manage my life.”
He put both hands flat on the table. “You don’t understand what happens if the shop goes under. There’s the money I borrowed, the customers waiting for work. I can’t just leave Neal with it.”
“I didn’t ask you to leave him.”
“Then what am I supposed to do?”
“I can’t answer that for you.”
His eyes were red at the edges. For a moment, he looked close to tears, and I waited for him to speak.
I’d have waited all afternoon if he had something to say about what he’d done.
“I thought you’d calm down after the trip,” he said.
I looked at the repayment sheet. There were no company statements attached, no agreement showing Ben’s ownership, no explanation of how those monthly payments would be made. I left the paper where it was.
“The house is still going to be sold. I’m not taking out a loan or guaranteeing one.”
“The kids will think you’re angry at us.”
“I’d like to see them. I’ve asked.”
He looked away.
I pushed the sheet back across the table. My hand was steady, though I was afraid he’d leave and I wouldn’t hear Lucy’s voice again.
“I’ll be at the hearing Thursday,” I said.
He folded the paper, leaving the corners uneven, and put it in his pocket. He didn’t shake Rachel’s hand or look at me when he stood. I stayed seated while she walked him out.
After the door closed, I pressed both palms against the table. My stomach hurt, and I couldn’t quite get my feet beneath me. Rachel brought water and let me take a few minutes before I tried to stand.
On Thursday, Dennis drove me to court. Ed had fallen getting out of bed the night before, and Evelyn couldn’t leave him. She called while we were parking to say she was sorry; I told her to stay where she was needed.
Ben and Caroline were already inside with their attorney. Neal and Diane sat behind them. Ben looked up when I entered, then turned back to the papers on his lap.
I sat beside Rachel with the folder I’d brought to every appointment. A corner of Lucy’s itinerary showed from between the papers; I’d put it there after our meeting and forgotten to take it out. I pushed it farther in.
The hearing moved more slowly than I’d expected. People referred to reports by their dates and asked for pages to be found. I had spent weeks dreading what would be said and still found it difficult to listen when my son’s attorney began describing me.
He spoke about bereavement, missed obligations, resistance to help, and abrupt financial decisions. Some of the individual facts were true.
I had lost my wife, missed a bill, and needed help after surgery.
When it was my turn to answer, I was grateful for the glass of water within reach. I kept my hands beside it instead of trying to conceal the slight tremor. Rachel had told me to listen to each question and answer only what was asked.
“Did your son assist you with your finances after surgery?”
“Yes.”
“Did you forget conversations during that period?”
“Some. I was taking pain medication.”
“Did you tell your son the house would eventually be his?”
“I told him I expected he’d inherit it. I didn’t give him ownership.”
The attorney asked when I’d decided to sell. I said it was after I learned about the loan application. He asked whether I’d also been upset about the vacation.
“Yes.”
“Are you angry with your son?”
“Yes.”
I heard Caroline move in her chair. The attorney waited a moment before asking whether anger might have affected my judgment. I took a drink of water and put the glass back carefully.
“I consulted my attorney. I considered the expenses and the notice they would need. I gave them more than three months to move.”
“Would an apology change your decision?”
“I’d want to hear it. I still wouldn’t agree to the loan.”
“You’ve trusted your son to help you before.”
“I did trust him.”
My voice caught. I waited until I could go on.
Ben was looking at me now.
“I needed help then. I’ll need help again. I’ve been making arrangements for that.”
“Then why object to your son assisting you?”
“Because he needs money from my property. He’s already tried to borrow it without my permission. I can’t give him control of it.”
I stopped there. The attorney asked more questions about the accounts and the notice, and I answered them. When I sat down beside Rachel, she moved my water closer without saying anything.
Ben answered questions too. He described paying bills during my recovery and checking on me afterward. I remembered some of the calls he mentioned, including one when he stayed on the phone while I reset a router because he knew I disliked asking twice.
Then Rachel asked about the authorization he had used for the loan. Its limits were in the documents before the court. Ben said he had believed it let him act for me.
“Did your father ask you to apply for this loan?”
“No.”
“Did you ask his permission before submitting the application?”
“I intended to discuss it with him.”
“Before you submitted it?”
“No.”
He was looking down when she asked the last question. “Did the confusion you described after his surgery continue after he stopped taking the pain medication?” Ben glanced at Caroline, then back at the papers in front of him. “Not in the same way…”
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