For a long time I said nothing. Rain ran down the windows. Somewhere in the walls, the old house ticked and settled, the way it did when Raymond used to walk through it at night.
Trevor had gone to my gate with tears and an apology. And that same morning, he had signed a paper saying his mother had lost her mind.
“When is the hearing?”
“Thursday. Nine a.m.”
“Then we’ll be ready,” I said.
Part 4
The probate courtroom was smaller than I expected, with pale paneling and a carpet the color of old tea. I wore my navy suit, the one I’d worn to Raymond’s funeral. I had put makeup over the bruise, but not too much. I wanted the judge to see it if she looked.
Kristen sat at the petitioner’s table in cream silk and pearls, looking like grief in a magazine. Her lawyer was a smooth man with a leather portfolio. Trevor sat beside her, thinner than I remembered, his eyes fixed on the table. The deputy had been told to wait outside until the hearing ended, because Howard had asked the judge for an unusual courtesy: let the old woman speak first.
