Patricia placed her briefcase on the dining table.
Nobody sat down.
Ashley was standing near the staircase with her arms folded.
David remained beside the kitchen counter.
Richard and Linda exchanged a look.
I pulled out a chair.
"Please sit down."
Patricia waited until everyone had found a place.
Then she opened her briefcase.
Ashley looked at me.
"Margaret, I really don't understand why we're doing this."
I kept my voice calm.
"Then perhaps it's time I explained."
Patricia took out a folder.
It was an ordinary brown folder.
No dramatic labels.
No thick stack of legal documents.
Just several pages I had spent months organizing.
"I asked Patricia to come because I wanted to review some financial matters."
David frowned.
"What financial matters?"
"The money I've given you and Ashley."
His expression changed.
Ashley gave a short laugh.
"Are we seriously discussing money on your birthday?"
I looked at her.
"Yes."
She glanced at David.
He didn't answer.
Patricia placed the first page on the table.
"I've helped Margaret organize her financial records over the past several months."
Ashley leaned forward.
"Why?"
Patricia didn't react to her tone.
"Because Margaret wanted a clear record of several financial transactions."
I watched David look at the paper.
He recognized some of the amounts.
I could tell.
There was a transfer he had requested for a household expense.
Another payment connected to their home.
And several other amounts I had provided during the previous eighteen months.
David rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, you didn't need to do all this."
I looked at him.
"I needed to understand where my money was going."
Ashley shifted in her chair.
"Nobody has taken anything from you."
"I didn't say anybody had."
"Then what is this supposed to mean?"
I took a breath.
"It means I started keeping records."
Patricia turned another page.
She had helped me put the information into a form that was easier to understand.
There were dates.
Amounts.
Descriptions of the reasons I had been given.
I looked at the first figure.
Then I looked at my son.
"Over the last eighteen months, I've given you both more than seventy thousand dollars."
David stared at the table.
Ashley shook her head.
"That can't be right."
I didn't argue.
Patricia pointed to the records.
"The amounts are documented."
Richard leaned forward.
"Seventy thousand?"
Linda looked at me.
"Margaret, I had no idea."
I nodded.
"I didn't make a habit of discussing it."
Ashley sat back.
"Well, we had expenses. That's what families do. They help each other."
I looked at her.
"You're right. Families help each other."
I paused.
"But helping doesn't mean I should stop asking questions."
David finally spoke.
"Mom, we never asked you to keep a record of everything."
I looked at him.
"You asked me for help. I gave it. Then the requests kept coming, and I began wondering why nothing ever seemed to improve."
He opened his mouth.
Then closed it.
Patricia turned toward me.
"Would you like me to continue?"
I nodded.
She explained that the purpose of the records was to make the transactions clear.
She wasn't there to accuse anybody.
She wasn't there to argue about family relationships.
She was there because I had asked for professional help organizing my affairs.
Ashley looked increasingly uncomfortable.
"So this is about money?"
"Partly."
"Then why bring it up here?"
I glanced around the room.
"Because this is where I finally understood how little my feelings mattered to some people."
Nobody spoke.
I didn't mention the bedroom immediately.
I wanted them to understand that the problem had started long before we arrived in Cape Cod.
The money was one part.
The way they treated me was another.
And the two things had become impossible for me to separate.
David looked toward Patricia.
"Is there something we're supposed to sign?"
Patricia shook her head.
"Not at this moment. We're reviewing the records and discussing Margaret's financial arrangements."
Ashley looked relieved.
I wasn't.
There was still a great deal I needed to understand.
I looked at my son.
"David, I want you to understand something."
He finally met my eyes.
"I didn't keep these records because I stopped loving you."
He looked down again.
"I kept them because I needed to take responsibility for my own life."
For the first time that morning, nobody interrupted me.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Numbers Were Written in Black and White, but What Hurt Most Was Watching My Son Avoid My Eyes
I Thought My Seventieth Birthday Would Bring My Family Closer, Until I Heard What They Really Thought of Me
Part 5 of 24
