My appointment at the bank was scheduled for Thursday.
Mrs. Collins offered to drive me.
I accepted.
Getting into a vehicle was still uncomfortable, but I managed with her help.
The bank was only a short distance away.
I had been going there for years.
The woman who helped me recognized my name.
She greeted me politely and asked how I was feeling.
I told her I was recovering.
Then we sat down in a small office.
I explained that I wanted to review my accounts and make sure everything was properly arranged.
She went through my pension deposits.
My savings.
My regular expenses.
Nothing was unusual.
I was relieved.
I asked about keeping an emergency fund.
She explained the different options available.
I listened carefully.
I wasn't interested in taking unnecessary risks.
I simply wanted my money protected and accessible.
Before leaving, I asked for copies of several documents.
I placed them inside my folder.
On the ride home, Mrs. Collins asked whether everything had gone well.
I told her it had.
Then I looked out the window.
I was thinking about Kevin.
For years, I had helped him whenever he asked.
Sometimes I gave him money.
Sometimes I paid a bill directly.
Sometimes I bought groceries when he said things were difficult.
I never expected anything in return.
But I had also never imagined that he would begin treating my savings as something he might eventually receive.
That afternoon, I opened an old drawer in the bedroom.
Inside were papers I hadn't looked at in years.
There were insurance statements.
Old receipts.
Photographs.
And a small notebook Walt had used.
I opened it.
His handwriting covered several pages.
Most of it was ordinary household information.
The name of the plumber.
The date we had last serviced the heating system.
The amount we paid for insurance.
Then I found a page with Kevin's name.
Walt had written down a few amounts.
Money we had lent him.
Dates.
A note about repayment.
I sat quietly.
I remembered those loans.
I remembered telling Walt that Kevin needed help.
Walt had never refused to help our son.
But he had always believed that helping someone should not mean allowing them to avoid responsibility forever.
He used to tell me that.
I hadn't listened enough.
I turned another page.
There was a short note.
It said that we should always keep enough money to look after ourselves.
I read it twice.
Then I closed the notebook.
I wasn't angry with Walt.
He had tried to prepare me.
I had simply been too busy making excuses.
The following day, I contacted an attorney.
I explained that I wanted to review my estate documents.
I wanted to make sure my property and savings would be handled according to my wishes.
The appointment was arranged for the following week.
I didn't tell Kevin.
There was no reason to.
These were my affairs.
A few days later, he called again.
I answered because I still hoped we could speak calmly.
"Hi, Mom."
"Hello."
He asked how I was feeling.
I told him I was doing better.
Then he asked whether I had thought about what we discussed.
I knew what he meant.
The money.
"I have thought about it."
"And?"
"I'm keeping it."
He became quiet.
Then he asked whether I had spoken to Frank.
I told him Frank had returned everything and had no further involvement.
Kevin sighed.
"Mom, I really think we should find a way to settle this."
I frowned.
"Settle what?"
"The whole situation."
I asked him whether he meant the car.
He said yes.
I asked whether he was prepared to return the money he had received.
He said he needed more time.
I told him I had heard that before.
He became defensive.
"Why are you treating me like I don't care about you?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I said something I had never said to him before.
"Because caring about me means respecting me."
He went silent.
I continued.
"You could have asked me about the car. You could have waited until I came home. You could have helped me recover instead of taking something that belonged to me."
He said he had been trying to help.
I told him I didn't need that kind of help.
The call ended shortly afterward.
I placed the telephone down.
Then I returned to Walt's notebook.
I opened it to the page with Kevin's name.
For a long time, I stared at the amounts.
They were smaller than the forty-one thousand dollars.
But together, they represented years of promises.
I finally understood why Walt had wanted me to be careful.
He knew that love and money could become tangled.
And he wanted me to have something that nobody could talk me out of.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Attorney Asked Me One Simple Question About Kevin, and I Had to Admit I Had Never Really Set Boundaries Before
I Came Home From Three Weeks of Recovery and Found an Empty Driveway Where My Car Had Always Been
Part 14 of 20
