Richard’s Buick needed service.
Patricia needed transportation after dental work.
Passwords had to be located.
Prescriptions needed tracking.
Susan eventually flew in and called Mark in disbelief.
“Your father has seventy-seven passwords written on seventeen different pieces of paper.”
“Eighteen,” Mark said immediately.
Silence.
“What?”
“Check under the router.”
Another silence.
“I hate that you knew that.”
Mark laughed.
Then Susan grew serious.
“How long have you been doing all this?”
“A while.”
That had been his answer for twelve years.
A while.
Five weeks after our move, Patricia called him.
Her voice sounded softer than it had in months.
“I don’t like how we left things.”
“Neither do I.”
“I don’t want us fighting over money.”
“We aren’t.”
“I miss you.”
That got to him.
“I miss you too, Mom.”
For about ninety seconds, I thought we were witnessing the beginning of something better.
Then Patricia said, “Your father’s procedure is November twelfth. If you flew in on the tenth, you could stay through the weekend.”
