PART 10 – My Daughter Arrived With Flowers and an Apology, but the Questions She Asked Told Me What She Really Wanted

Denise came the following morning.

She didn't call first.

I heard her car outside and watched her walk toward the front door carrying a bunch of white flowers.

I opened the door.

"Morning, Mom."

"Good morning."

She held out the flowers.

"I thought these might brighten the place."

I accepted them.

They were beautiful.

White roses.

I wondered whether she had remembered that I preferred yellow ones.

Perhaps she hadn't.

She stepped inside.

"Can we talk?"

I pointed toward the dining room.

She sat at the table.

I put the flowers in a vase.

For a few minutes, we discussed ordinary things.

Carol's visit.

The weather.

A television program Denise had been watching.

Then she finally brought up Saturday.

"Paul says you've spoken to a solicitor."

"Yes."

She looked down.

"Mom, we really didn't mean for things to happen like this."

I sat opposite her.

"How did you expect them to happen?"

She rubbed her fingers together.

"We thought selling the house was the sensible thing."

"For whom?"

"For everyone."

I waited.

She continued.

"You have so much responsibility here. The garden, the repairs, the bills. We worry about you."

I looked at the flowers.

"Denise, I have managed this house for forty-three years."

"I know."

"Then why did you think I couldn't manage it now?"

She didn't answer.

Instead, she asked whether Margaret had reviewed the power of attorney.

I noticed how quickly she had moved away from the question.

"She's reviewing all the documents."

Denise nodded.

"That's good."

Then she asked whether the mortgage was really as large as Paul had said.

I looked at her.

"He told you the amount?"

"He saw the papers."

"Then you know what they say."

She sighed.

"Mom, we're just concerned."

I had heard that word too many times.

Concerned.

Worried.

Helping.

I wondered when they had stopped asking what I wanted.

"Why did you arrange the open house?"

She looked surprised.

"We wanted to show the property."

"Without telling me?"

"We thought you might change your mind if we gave you too much time."

That answer hurt more than I expected.

I stared at her.

"So you deliberately kept me from knowing."

She looked uncomfortable.

"That's not what I meant."

"It sounds exactly like what you meant."

She reached across the table.

I moved my hand away.

Not dramatically.

Just enough.

Denise looked at the movement.

For a moment, neither of us spoke.

Then she asked whether I had any plans to repay the mortgage.

I felt something change inside me.

There it was.

Not my health.

Not my happiness.

The money.

"Why are you asking?"

"Because if there's a large loan against the house, we need to understand what happens."

"That's between me and the lender."

She leaned back.

"You're being very secretive."

I looked directly at her.

"You came here to apologize, Denise. But every question you've asked has been about the money."

Her face reddened.

"That's unfair."

"Perhaps."

I stood and walked toward the kitchen.

She followed me.

"Mom, we have already put a lot of work into this."

I turned around.

"You put work into selling something that wasn't yours."

She looked away.

After a moment, she picked up her handbag.

"I'll speak to Paul."

"All right."

She left the flowers.

I watched her car disappear down the street.

Then I returned to the dining table.

The white roses were leaning slightly toward the window.

I trimmed their stems and placed them in fresh water.

I wasn't ready to throw them away.

But I wasn't ready to believe the apology either.

Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Lender Confirmed Everything in Writing, and My Children Finally Learned That the House Had Another Legal Stakeholder