Chapter 10 - What Marilyn Said
Marilyn was in the garden when I found her, in her usual chair with her tea, but the cup was cold and untouched. She'd heard the car. She'd heard Trevor on the stairs. She'd heard enough through the old walls of that house to know something had cracked wide open.
I sat in the chair across from her. "He stood up," I said.
She closed her eyes. "I knew. I think I've known for weeks. The way he held himself in the chair — there were moments." She opened her eyes. "I told myself I was imagining it. That was easier."
"You weren't imagining it."
"No." She looked at her hands. "How long has Trevor known?"
"We think Dr. Hartley told him once the improvement became measurable. Probably six to eight weeks ago."
She was quiet a long time. "Trevor was always the one who needed more," she said finally. "More attention. More reassurance. Warren was self-sufficient from the time he was small — he never asked for much, so I suppose I gave him less." She pressed her lips together. "I don't know if that's an explanation or an excuse."
"It doesn't have to be either one right now."
She looked at me. "What happens next?"
"Katherine files the forensic report tomorrow. The injunction freezes the ownership transfer. The court appoints an independent reviewer for the medical file. Trevor and Colleen will probably be asked for statements."
"And Warren?"
"Warren gets his company back."
Her chin dropped. Her shoulders moved once — a single controlled breath that was almost a sob and then wasn't.
"He built that from nothing," she said. "After his father left. Twenty-six years old and he built it from nothing and I watched him do it." She looked up at the house. "And Trevor just—"
She stopped.
"Trevor will face consequences," I said. "Katherine's confident."
"I'm not worried about Trevor." She looked back at me. "I'm worried about what I didn't see. What I should have seen."
I didn't try to talk her out of it. It wouldn't have been honest. "You see it now," I said.
She reached across the little table and put her hand over mine. Her grip was firm. "Thank you," she said. "For what you did. For not leaving."
We sat there a while without talking. The garden was very still. Somewhere inside the house I could hear Trevor and Colleen — the low, fast rhythm of two people figuring out their next move.
That evening Trevor came to find me in the hallway. He'd pulled himself together. The warmth was back — a careful, rebuilt version of it.
"I want to apologize," he said. "For how I talked to you earlier. You're doing your job. I get that."
"Thank you."
"I hope you also get that this situation is more complicated than it looks from outside. There are things about Warren's condition — about the choices that got made — that aren't in any document."
"I'm sure that's true," I said.
"I'd like to sit down with you. Walk you through some of the context. I think it'd help you understand what's really been going on in this house."
I looked at him. "I appreciate that. I'll let you know when I have time."
He nodded. Smiled. Walked away.
I went to my room and messaged Katherine: *Trevor tried to talk to me privately tonight. Says he wants to explain context that isn't in any document. I put him off.*
May you like
Her reply: *Good. Don't meet with him alone. Not once.*
I set the phone down. Through the wall, the voices had stopped. That was almost worse.
