Chapter 11
"Mom, that's not true..." Lisa sobbed, taking a tentative step forward, her hands outstretched in a desperate, pleading gesture. "We love you. We've always loved you. Please... you can change the trust. Mr. Brennan can undo it. We'll come visit every weekend. We’ll bring the kids. We swear we will. Just don't cut us out like this. Please don't leave us with nothing."
I looked at Lisa. I looked at the daughter I had held through night terrors, the girl whose college tuition Richard and I had paid in full so she would never carry debt, the woman who couldn't find five minutes to drive across town when I was hooked up to an IV in an emergency room.
"You don't have nothing, Lisa," I said gently. "You have your careers. You have your educations. You have your health. You have your own lives—exactly what you told me you had when you told me to stop calling."
"Mom—"
"I gave you thirty years of my life," I said. "I gave you my youth, my energy, my patience, and every ounce of love I had to give. I gave you wings to fly. But I will not let you pluck my feathers to line your nests while I am still alive."
I turned toward the elevator.
"Wait!" Michael yelled, his voice cracking with desperation. "What about the will? What about Dad's personal belongings? His watch? His tools? The car?"
I paused at the elevator doors, pressing the call button. The polished brass doors reflected my steady silhouette.
"The tools have already been donated to the vocational school in Commerce City," I replied without looking back. "The classic Mustang was auctioned last month; the proceeds bought fifty new oxygen concentrators for the hospice network. And your father's gold watch?"
I turned my head slightly, catching Michael's frantic gaze.
"I gave your father's watch to the young paramedic who held my hand in the back of the ambulance while you were ignoring my phone calls. He told me he was working seventy hours a week to put himself through medical school. He appreciated it far more than you ever would have."
Michael’s mouth fell open. He looked as though the floor had dropped out beneath his feet.
The elevator chimed, the heavy doors sliding open with a smooth, mechanical whisper.
Thomas and David stepped in first, holding the door for me.
Before stepping inside, I looked at the three of them one last time. I didn't feel anger. I didn't feel vindication. I didn't even feel the sharp, biting grief that had haunted my pillow for the past year.