“You’re making this sound sinister.”
“I’m describing what happened.”
“We were trying to plan ahead.”
“For whom?”
“For you.”
“Without me.”
He gave an irritated exhale.
“Because every time we bring up the future, you shut down.”
“That isn’t true.”
“You refuse to be realistic.”
I watched the server approach, see our faces, and hesitate.
Wesley noticed her too and lowered his voice.
“You live alone in that house.”
“Yes.”
“It’s too much house.”
“For you?”
“For anyone your age.”
There it was.
Not a question about whether I could manage my stairs.
Not concern about a fall.
Not a doctor’s recommendation.
A conclusion.
I was old enough, in Wesley’s mind, for ownership of my own decisions to become negotiable.
Cora tried a softer tone.
“Meadowlark Springs is beautiful.”
“I’m sure it is.”
“They have activities.
Transportation.
Meals.”
“I have a car and a kitchen.”
“That isn’t the point.”
“Then tell me the point.”
Nobody answered immediately.
That silence told me more than any speech could have.
I looked at my daughter.
She had always been easier to read than Wesley.
Her face was pinched with embarrassment.
“What did he tell you?” I asked.
She swallowed.
“He said you’d agreed to start looking.”
Wesley snapped his head toward her.
“I said she was open to discussing it.”
“No,” my daughter said quietly.
“You said she was basically on board and getting cold feet.”
Cora stared at Wesley.
The first crack had appeared.
He tried to cover it quickly.
“This is exactly why we didn’t want to have the conversation like this.”
“You didn’t want to have the conversation with me at all,” I said.
He leaned forward.
“Fine.
You want honesty? The house needs work.
Property values are good.
Spring is the best time to list.
You shouldn’t wait until there’s a crisis and then make everyone scramble.”
“Everyone?”
