The door rose smoothly.
No clicking.
No hesitation.
I pointed upward. “You fixed it.”
Richard nodded. “Guy came Tuesday.”
Mark looked at the motor. “How much?”
Richard made a face.
“Two hundred eighty dollars.”
“Sounds about right.”
Richard looked at his son.
“You did it free for twelve years.”
Mark smiled.
“Sounds about wrong.”
Richard laughed.
Then his expression changed.
“It was.”
Two words.
For Richard Bennett, that was practically a Broadway musical.
Patricia’s apology took longer.
About a year after the anniversary dinner, she called Mark one Sunday afternoon while we sat on our patio.
She and Richard had returned to their estate attorney.
They had changed the plan.
The estate would now treat all three children more evenly, with money also set aside for grandchildren and a charitable donation Richard wanted to make.
Mark never asked about percentages.
He only said, “Okay.”
Patricia went quiet.
Then she said, “I suppose I should have thought about things differently.”
