The second envelope was white. Through its window Margaret could see her address and the words proposed closing.
She read the first page standing up.
A sale price.
A date eleven days away.
Her name above a signature that slanted too far to the right.
For a moment she heard only the refrigerator motor.
“I didn’t sign this.”
Vanessa reached for the page. Margaret moved it beyond her hand.
“It was preliminary.”
“It has my signature.”
“It wasn’t final.”
Daniel lowered himself into a chair.
Margaret turned the next sheet. An authorization described Vanessa as her representative. There were instructions to contact Vanessa rather than disturb Margaret directly.
Beside the explanation was a phrase Margaret read twice.
Declining ability to manage personal affairs.
She laid the paper flat.
“Who decided that?”
Vanessa’s lips parted, then pressed together.
Daniel whispered, “She told me you’d agreed.”
“To sell my house?”
“To move somewhere smaller. Somewhere with help.”
Margaret looked at the kettle on the stove, the bread she had baked that morning, the keys still warm in her pocket from driving herself to the courthouse.
“What help did I ask for?”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
From upstairs came a thump, followed by one of the children laughing. All three adults looked at the ceiling.
Margaret lowered her voice.
“They are not going to hear this through the floor.”
She called her neighbor, Ruth, and asked whether the children could come over for supper. Ruth asked one question.
“Do you need me to stay?”
“Not yet.”
