Daniel appeared in the doorway carrying a tray. He put a bowl of soup and a small plate of bread on the side table, then set a spoon beside them.
Nobody spoke until he had finished.
“I remembered the potato and leek,” he told Helen.
Her mouth trembled once.
“Thank you.”
She took the bowl onto her lap. The warmth passed through the china into her hands. She could not yet eat, but having something offered to her without conditions steadied her.
Arthur pulled another chair closer.
“Our solicitor has preserved everything the lender sent. You need independent advice, Helen. We can call someone tonight.”
Marlene’s face changed.
For the first time, the confidence left it completely.
“Michael,” she said.
He looked up.
“Tell your mother what happens if she makes this official.”
Helen turned toward him.
He seemed suddenly younger, though nothing about that made him innocent.
“The house,” he said. “We borrowed against it too. If the lender demands repayment, we’ll lose it.”
“The house you live in?”
He nodded.
Marlene stepped nearer.
“And he could be charged. He supplied the documents. You understand that, don’t you?”
Helen looked down at the bread.
For most of her life, fear for Michael had meant fever, traffic, an empty refrigerator. She knew how to move toward those things. This fear required her to remain in her chair.
“Mom,” he whispered.
She picked up the spoon.
“I need a lawyer who represents me.”
CHAPTER 3 – What Dinner Was For
Marlene reached for Michael’s wrist.
“We’re leaving.”
He let her pull him one step before stopping.
Arthur’s solicitor had answered on speakerphone. Her voice was measured, asking Helen whether she had authorized any guarantee, transfer, or power of attorney.
“No,” Helen said to each question.
The solicitor explained that the suspected forgery should be reported and that Helen could make her own statement without deciding anyone else’s guilt.
Gordon muttered something about lawyers making work for themselves.
Evelyn had not moved from the door. Her eyes rested on Helen’s bowl, then on the mark across her hand.
“There’s something in her bag,” Evelyn said.
Marlene turned sharply.
“Mother.”
“The blue folder.”
“Be quiet.”
Evelyn’s shoulders rose toward her ears. Helen recognized the movement. She had seen it at dinner whenever Gordon interrupted his wife.
But Evelyn stayed.
“You told me the dinner was to get the last signature.”
Michael stared at Marlene.
“You said we were telling her.”
“We were,” Marlene snapped. “Once she was being reasonable.”
Evelyn gripped the doorway.
“You said if she refused, we should remember how confused she seemed. You told us to mention it to her doctor.”
The spoon struck Helen’s bowl.
A small, clear sound.
Marlene looked around the room as though calculating which face might still belong to her.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake. She lives alone. Somebody has to plan ahead.”
Helen set the bowl carefully on the table.
The chair in the corner. Her empty place setting. Michael’s claim that she had already eaten.
They had needed her upset.
Her calm had interrupted something rehearsed.
“Show me the folder,” Helen said.
“No.”
“You brought papers with my name on them to a dinner you invited me to. Show me.”
Marlene pressed her bag against her hip.
Michael held out his hand.
