Vanessa had invited nearly sixty people to Grand Evermere Hall the following Friday for my seventy-fifth birthday.
I had forgotten about it.
Or perhaps she had simply stopped mentioning it.
According to correspondence our attorney obtained, two people connected to the proposed competency arrangement were expected to attend.
So was a representative of the development consortium.
Vanessa apparently intended to present me with several “estate planning” documents during the evening.
Ethan wanted the event canceled.
I said no.
Sophie stared at me.
“You are not turning your birthday into some kind of trap.”
“Not a trap.”
“What would you call it?”
“Excellent timing.”
“Dad.”
I smiled.
“I spent forty years learning that people reveal themselves most completely when they believe the room belongs to them.”
We did not install secret cameras around Ravenswood.
We did not rehearse some dramatic performance of dementia.
We did something simpler.
My attorney completed the revocations.
My physician prepared a formal independent cognitive evaluation confirming that I remained capable of managing my own affairs.
The financial institutions restricted unusual transfers.
The development consortium received notice that any transaction involving Ravenswood without my direct authorization would be disputed.
And I transferred Ravenswood Estate into a new protected family trust whose trustees were Sophie, Ethan and me together.
Vanessa knew none of it.
Friday evening, Grand Evermere Hall looked beautiful.
Vanessa had decorated the ballroom in dark blue and silver. Photographs from my life were displayed throughout the room.
There was one of Eleanor and me on our wedding day.
I stopped in front of it.
For the first time in years, looking at Eleanor did not make me feel lonely.
It made me feel ashamed of how desperately I had tried to replace a kind of love that had never been replaceable.
Vanessa appeared beside me wearing a deep green gown.
“Walter.”
She kissed my cheek.
“You look better.”
“I feel better.”
For one second, something moved across her face.
Concern.
Not the loving kind.
“Have you been taking your medication?”
There it was.
I smiled.
“Every day.”
Technically true.
Just not the pills she provided.
