No hello.
No Dad.
No question about how I was doing.
“What did she sign?”
I sat at the kitchen table.
The same chair where Diane used to sit across from me each morning was still empty.
“Your mother left you a letter.”
“I’m asking about the estate.”
“I heard you.”
His breathing changed.
“My wife says there’s some document keeping everything with you.”
“Your mother made changes three days before she died.”
“She couldn’t do that without telling me.”
“She didn’t need your permission.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
But it was close enough.
I looked toward Diane’s cup near the sink.
I still had not moved it.
“Why didn’t you come to her funeral?” I asked.
Silence.
Then irritation returned to his voice.
“Dad, we already went through this.”
“No.
You went through it.
I buried your mother.”
“The trip was booked.”
“So was the chapel.”
He exhaled sharply.
“You’re trying to make me feel guilty.”
“No.
I’m trying to understand you.”
“Mom knew we had plans.”
“Your mother was dead, Darnell.”
He said nothing.
I continued.
“She wasn’t asking you to rearrange dinner.
She wasn’t asking you to help move furniture.
She died.”
His voice dropped.
“You think I don’t know that?”
“I don’t know what you know anymore.”
He hung up.
The next morning Harold called me.
Darnell had contacted his office.
“He wants a copy of everything,” Harold said.
“Can he have it?”
“He is entitled to receive what concerns him.
I’ll handle it properly.”
I hesitated.
“Harold, was Diane sure?”
There was a pause.
“Yes.”
“Did she tell you why?”
“She did.”
My throat tightened.
Harold’s voice softened.
