The morning after Melissa called, I woke feeling unusually calm.
Her apology had stayed with me.
I appreciated that she had called.
But I had learned not to confuse an apology with a change of heart.
I made coffee and sat beside the window.
Evelyn's photograph was on the desk.
I looked at it while thinking about the conversation I needed to have with Brandon.
I didn't want revenge.
I wanted respect.
Those were two very different things.
At around ten, Margaret called.
"Robert, I've prepared the documents we discussed."
"Thank you."
"There are several options concerning the property arrangement."
I listened carefully.
She explained that the company could review the existing permission for Brandon and Melissa to occupy the house.
Any changes would need to follow the governing documents and the applicable legal requirements.
I told her I wanted everything handled properly.
"Of course," she said.
"I also want to make sure the grandchildren aren't caught in the middle."
"We can account for their interests when preparing the arrangements."
I thanked her.
After the call, I checked my messages.
Brandon had written:
"Dad, can we have dinner tonight?"
I considered the invitation.
Then I replied:
"Yes. Somewhere quiet."
He suggested a restaurant near the hotel.
I agreed.
At six, I arrived.
Brandon was already sitting at a table near the window.
He stood when he saw me.
"Hello, Dad."
"Hello."
We shook hands awkwardly.
I wasn't used to greeting my son that way.
He ordered coffee.
I ordered tea.
For a while, we discussed ordinary things.
The weather.
The grandchildren's school activities.
A repair that needed doing at the house.
Neither of us mentioned the funeral.
Finally, Brandon put down his cup.
"Dad, I've been thinking about everything."
I waited.
"I don't think I understood what you and Mom were doing for us."
I looked at him.
"That's true."
He nodded.
"I suppose we got used to everything being taken care of."
I didn't interrupt.
He continued.
"The house, the repairs, the insurance. I never really thought about who was paying."
I looked through the window.
"Your mother and I didn't want you worrying about those things."
"I know."
He rubbed his hands together.
"Maybe we should have asked more questions."
I said nothing.
Then he looked directly at me.
"I'm sorry about the funeral."
That was the first time he had said those words without adding an explanation.
I felt my throat tighten.
"Thank you."
"I should never have brought up the money that day."
"No, you shouldn't."
He nodded.
"I was thinking about our expenses. I didn't think about what you were going through."
I looked at him.
"Your mother had been my wife for forty-six years."
"I know, Dad."
"I had just watched them lower her coffin into the ground."
He looked down.
"I know."
I took a breath.
"I wasn't asking you to give me anything. I wasn't expecting you to take care of me."
Brandon nodded slowly.
"I understand that now."
I wasn't certain he did.
But I wanted to give him the chance.
He asked whether I would come back to the apartment.
I told him I hadn't decided.
He looked disappointed.
"Is there anything we can do?"
I considered the question.
"Start by treating me like your father, not a financial responsibility."
He looked at me for a long moment.
Then he nodded.
We finished dinner quietly.
Before leaving, he asked whether he could visit me the next day.
I agreed.
On the way back to the hotel, I stopped at a small shop.
I bought a bottle of water and a newspaper.
Nothing special.
But I found myself enjoying the freedom of deciding where to go without explaining myself.
When I returned to my room, I placed Evelyn's photograph beside the lamp.
I thought about Brandon's apology.
I hoped it was sincere.
But I also knew that the next few weeks would tell me more than any conversation could.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: My Son Asked Me to Come Home, but I Told Him That Love Could Not Mean Returning to the Same Arrangement
My Son Chose the Hour After His Mother’s Burial to Tell Me I Was No Longer Worth Supporting
Part 17 of 20
