Chapter 4: The Woman with the Red Lanyard
It was a man I didn't recognize.
He was perhaps sixty, heavyset, wearing a dark overcoat that was too warm for the hospital corridor.
He stopped just inside the doorway when he saw my open eyes.
"Mrs.
Elaine?" he said.
"Yes."
He didn't come closer.
He looked at the nightstand — at the empty space where the folder had been — and something moved across his face.
Not quite surprise.
Something more careful than that.
"My name is Gerald Marsh," he said.
"I'm a solicitor.
I was contacted by your daughter three days ago regarding your estate."
I said nothing.
He cleared his throat.
"I want you to understand that my role here is simply to ensure that all documentation is handled correctly.
I have no interest in—"
"Mr.
Marsh," I said.
"How many times have you been in this room?"
A pause.
"This is my first visit."
"And the signatures on the documents Lisa showed you.
Did you witness them?"
His jaw tightened.
"I was not present for the signing."
"Then you accepted a power of attorney and a deed of transfer that you did not witness, from a woman who was unconscious in a hospital bed."
He said nothing.
"Sit down, Mr.
Marsh."
He didn't sit.
But he didn't leave either.
"I am awake," I said.
"I am fully aware of what has been prepared.
And I want you to understand something very clearly.
Whatever Lisa told you about my condition, whatever she told you about my wishes, none of it came from me."
"Mrs.
Elaine—"
"I have not given power of attorney to anyone.
I have not agreed to transfer my house.
And the signatures on those documents are not mine."
The word landed in the room like something heavy.
Gerald Marsh's hand moved to his coat pocket and stopped there.
"That is a serious allegation," he said quietly.
"Yes," I said.
"It is."
He looked at the door.
He looked back at me.
For the first time, he seemed to understand the position he was standing in.
"If what you're saying is accurate," he said slowly, "then I was not informed of the full situation."
"No.
You were not."
"I would need to—" He stopped.
Started again.
"I would need to review the circumstances under which those documents were presented to me."
"I would suggest you do that before tomorrow morning," I said.
"Because I have already asked to speak with the hospital's patient advocate.
And I expect that conversation will involve questions about how a solicitor came to be in possession of documents signed by an unconscious woman."
His face had gone the color of old paper.
He left without another word.
The door swung shut behind him.
I exhaled slowly.
A few minutes later, Nurse Carol came in — red lanyard, steady eyes, a clipboard tucked under one arm.
Walter was two steps behind her, his backpack still on his shoulders, watching me the way he always did when he was deciding whether to be frightened or brave.
"Walter tells me you're awake," Carol said.
She picked up my chart, glanced at the monitor, and looked at me directly.
"How are you feeling?"
"Clearer than I expected," I said.
"Good." She made a note.
"He also says you need the patient advocate."
"Tonight, if possible."
She nodded once.
"I'll make the call." She set the clipboard down and looked at me again — not as a nurse checking a chart, but as a woman looking at another woman.
"Is there anything else you need right now?"
I glanced at Walter.
"Could you stay in the corridor for a few minutes?" I asked her.
"Just until I've spoken with my grandson."
Carol looked at Walter, then back at me.
"Of course." She stepped out and pulled the door almost closed.
Walter came to the side of the bed.
"You did well," I told him.
"The man in the coat," he said.
"I saw him in the hallway.
He looked scared."
"He should be."
Walter set his backpack on the chair and sat on the edge of it.
He was quiet for a moment.
"Granny.
What's going to happen to Aunt Lisa?"
I looked at my grandson — this nine-year-old boy who had slept in a hospital chair for eleven nights to protect me, who had carried a folder of forged documents in his backpack without being asked twice, who had understood, somehow, that staying was the most important thing he could do.
"I don't know yet," I said honestly.
"But whatever happens, it won't happen to you.
I promise you that."
He nodded slowly.
Outside in the corridor, a phone rang.
Walter looked at the door.
"That might be her," he said.
I reached over and took his hand.
"Let it ring," I said.
But when Carol stepped back in thirty seconds later, her expression had changed.
"Mrs.
Elaine," she said carefully.
"Your daughter is downstairs.
She's asking to come up."
May you like
She paused.
"She's brought someone with her."
