Just panic.
“I’m safe.”
“What happened to the house?”
Margaret looked down at the blue folder beside her.
“What do you mean?”
“The furniture.
The refrigerator.
The washer and dryer.
Everything is gone.”
“Not everything.”
“Mom.” His voice sharpened.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I agree.”
Rebecca’s voice sounded in the background.
“Ask her where the coffee machine is.”
Margaret almost smiled.
Daniel lowered his voice.
“Did you hire movers?”
“Yes.”
“You can’t just empty our house.”
“I didn’t empty your house.
I removed my property from it.”
There was silence.
Then Rebecca took the phone.
“You lived with us,” she said.
“Those things were for the household.”
Margaret recognized the tone.
It was the same clipped voice Rebecca used when telling her which child needed collecting, what groceries were missing or why Margaret should not make plans on a particular afternoon.
Margaret opened the folder.
“I have the receipts.”
“That doesn’t mean you can take everything whenever you feel like it.”
“I took what I purchased.”
“You gave those things to us.”
“Then perhaps you can show me when I said that.”
Rebecca said nothing.
Margaret continued calmly.
“I kept the invoices, delivery confirmations and statements.
I also left you an itemized copy so there would be no confusion.”
Rebecca’s breathing changed.
“Do you know what the children came home to?”
Margaret’s fingers tightened around the phone.
That accusation hurt because it was designed to.
“Yes,” she said.
“And I know what their grandmother woke up to on Thanksgiving.”
Silence again.
Daniel took the phone back.
“Mom, we thought the trip would be tiring for you.”
“No, Daniel.
You decided the trip would be inconvenient with me there.”
“That’s not fair.”
Margaret looked at Arthur’s photograph.
“No.
Fair would have been asking me.”
Daniel began explaining that the flights were long, the schedule was busy, the children were excited and Rebecca had already made reservations.
Margaret listened until he ran out of reasons.
Then she asked one question.
