Chapter 7: The Deed and the Reckoning
We called a solicitor that afternoon.
His name was Mr.
Pemberton — Dad had used him for twenty years.
He drove out to the house himself when I explained the situation, which told me he already knew something was wrong.
He sat at the kitchen table where the letter and the will were spread out, and he read everything twice without speaking.
Laura sat beside me.
That was new.
That morning had shifted something between us that I couldn't fully name yet, but she was beside me now, not across from me.
"The deed transfer," Mr.
Pemberton said finally, "was executed during a period when your father's capacity was, at minimum, questionable.
The date here" — he tapped the document — "corresponds to a stage of his illness where his medical records will show significant cognitive fluctuation."
"Can it be challenged?" I asked.
"With Mrs.
Calloway's testimony and his medical records, yes.
Strongly." He looked at Laura over his glasses.
"The will, however, is dated two weeks later and was witnessed by two independent parties — myself included.
It supersedes the deed transfer in terms of his clear intent."
Laura's hands were in her lap.
"I know," she said.
Mr.
Pemberton paused.
"You know?"
"I knew the will existed.
I found out about it two months ago, when I was going through his papers." She didn't look at me.
"That's why I was in the shed.
I was looking for it.
I thought if I found it first — " She stopped.
"I don't know what I thought."
"Laura." My voice came out flat.
"I know." She turned to look at me.
"I know what I did.
I'm not going to pretend otherwise."
"You tried to take the house."
"Yes."
"You kept me away from him at the end."
"He asked me to keep you away.
That part was true." She held my gaze.
"But I used it.
I used it to control things.
And that wasn't right."
Mr.
Pemberton set his pen down and gave us a moment.
Outside, Bruno was in the garden, moving slowly along the fence line the way he always did in the afternoon.
"What happens now?" I asked Mr.
Pemberton.
"The deed transfer will be voided.
The will stands.
The estate proceeds as your father intended — the house to be sold, proceeds divided equally, with the additional sum to Laura as specified." He closed his folder.
"There may be a brief legal process, but with the documentation you have, I don't anticipate significant resistance."
Laura nodded once.
"I won't contest it."
I looked at her.
"I mean it," she said.
"I won't."
After Mr.
Pemberton left, we sat in the garden.
The apple tree was dropping the last of its leaves.
Bruno lay between our chairs.
"The photograph," I said.
"In the purse.
The woman with Dad."
Laura was quiet for a moment.
"Her name was Patricia.
They were friends for about four years, after Mum died.
She moved away.
Nothing dramatic — she just moved away." She looked at the tree.
"He was lonely.
He never said so, but he was."
"I didn't know."
"There's a lot we didn't know about each other," Laura said.
"About him."
A bird landed on the fence, looked at Bruno, and flew off again.
"Gerald called me this morning," I said.
"Before you arrived.
He wants to come by.
He said Dad talked about us constantly.
He said Dad was proud of both of us."
Laura's jaw moved.
"He said Dad used to say you were the strongest person he knew.
That you'd carried something no one should carry alone, and you'd never once asked anyone to feel sorry for you."
She didn't answer for a long time.
Then: "I should have told you.
About my son.
I should have told you years ago."
"You weren't ready."
"I'm still not sure I am." She looked at the letter in her hand.
"But I have a name now.
And an address, if I want it." She folded the paper carefully.
"Dad gave me that."
Bruno raised his head and looked at her.
May you like
"I know," she said softly.
"I know he did."
