Chapter 6 - The Son Who Doubted Me
Paul was on my front step when Nancy and I pulled in, coat still zipped, which meant he'd been there long enough to get cold and hadn't wanted to let himself in. Paul was always careful about lines like that. It was one of the things I loved in him and one of the things that made him hard to get close to.
He stood up when he saw us. "Mom."
"Come inside."
He followed us to the kitchen. Nancy put the kettle on again. Nobody sat.
"Kevin Boyd called me this morning," Paul said.
"I know."
"He says Walter wasn't in his right mind when he changed that will. He says there were people at the care home worried about his judgment that last year. That he was making choices that weren't like him."
"That's not true."
"I know that's what you think—"
"Paul." Nancy turned from the counter. "Stop."
"I'm not attacking her. I'm telling her what the man said."
"You're telling her what a man who was about to inherit four hundred thousand dollars said — the morning after the funeral, before she's slept." Nancy set two mugs down hard. "Think about when he called."
Paul looked at me. "Is it true? The money?"
"Yes."
"Mom, that's a fortune to leave a woman he hadn't laid eyes on in fifty years."
"I know."
"People are going to talk. People are already talking. His whole family thinks you married him for it."
"His family thought that before the wedding," I said. "That's not new."
"There wasn't four hundred grand attached to it before."
"Paul." I kept my voice flat. "Sit down."
He sat. I sat across from him. Nancy stayed by the counter.
"I'm going to tell you something," I said, "and I need you to hear all of it before you open your mouth."
He nodded.
I told him about the letter. The photographs. My mother going to Walter behind my back in 1969. New Hampshire, and the spring I came home hollowed out, and the fifty-five years I never knew why.
I told him about Andrew.
Paul didn't say anything for a long time. "You had a son," he finally said.
"Yes."
"Before me. Before Janet." Janet is his older sister, the one out in New Mexico who couldn't make it to the funeral. "A son. And you didn't know."
"I didn't know."
He looked at the photograph, which Nancy had propped on the table. "He looks like you," Paul said.
"I know."
Another silence. Then his voice changed — the careful, guarded thing went out of it.
"Mom. I'm sorry. For what I said walking in. About the money."
"You were asking fair questions."
"I was parroting what a stranger told me on the phone without stopping to ask why he called me instead of you." He dragged a hand through his hair. "He called me. Not you. Why me?"
"Mr. Reed thinks he's working through the people around me."
Paul's jaw set. "He's trying to turn us against you."
"That's what it looks like."
"And I almost let him." He looked back at the picture. "What are you going to do about Andrew?"
"I have his number. I haven't called yet."
"Are you going to?"
"Yes."
Paul reached across the table and put his hand over mine. He had his father's hands — big, warm, always a little rough.
"You want me there when you call?"
Something in my chest let go a little. "I think I have to do it by myself," I said. "But I'd like you nearby."
He nodded. His phone buzzed on the table. He looked at it and flipped it face-down without answering.
"Kevin?" Nancy asked.
"Second time today."
"Don't answer it," I said.
"I wasn't going to." He looked at me. "Mom. Whatever he pulls — we're not letting him take what Walter left you."
I believed him.
But that night, after Paul had driven home and Nancy had gone up to bed, my phone lit up on the table. Unknown number.
May you like
Mrs. Boyd. We should talk before this goes any further. There are things about Walter you don't know. Things that will change how you feel about all of it. — K. Boyd
I looked at it a long time. Then I turned the phone face-down and went to find Andrew's number.
