Gabriella turned to Linda.
“May Margaret see the insurance paperwork?”
Linda kept both hands in her lap.
“It’s unfinished.”
“Then unfinished is what we’ll see,” Margaret said.
Edward reached toward the handbag, but Gabriella stopped him with a glance.
“Linda can decide whether to produce it.”
Linda held Margaret’s gaze, waiting for the familiar retreat: the apology to keep supper pleasant, the change of subject, the offered cup of tea.
Margaret did nothing.
Finally, Linda pulled out a cream folder and slid it across the table.
Inside was a document bearing Margaret’s name beneath language authorizing Edward and Linda to arrange a sale.
There was a signature already on it.
Margaret felt the blood drain from her hands.
“That isn’t mine.”
“It’s a draft,” Linda said immediately.
Gabriella did not touch the page.
“A draft with a signature?”
“They put those things together automatically.”
“Who are they?”
Linda looked at Edward. This time, he looked back.
“Tell her,” he said.
“You tell her. You’re the one who said we could fix everything if your mother stopped sitting on all this money.”
Margaret looked past them toward the doorway. Ben was laughing at something Carol had said. The sound arrived from a different world.
“Has this been sent anywhere?” she asked.
Linda said nothing.
Edward pulled out his phone.
“There’s a buyer. A man who purchases houses to renovate. Linda told him Mom wanted a quick sale.”
Margaret’s chair scraped the floor.
Gabriella stood beside her but did not reach for her.
“Was somebody coming here?”
