Chapter 3 - Rachel says I am forgetting
Rachel came to Claire’s office the next morning with her own lawyer.
Not because I invited her.
Because Claire notified her that the suitcases could be retrieved under supervised conditions and that all communication concerning my estate plan should go through counsel for now.
Rachel’s attorney was Julia Merritt.
Calm.
Professional.
No theatrical threats.
Good.
Rachel looked as if she had not slept.
“Mom.”
“Eleanor,” Julia corrected gently.
Rachel flinched.
I hated that I enjoyed it.
We sat across a conference table.
Claire asked:
“Why did you and Trent arrive with six suitcases?”
Rachel answered:
“Because our condo had a plumbing remediation.”
I stared.
“What?”
“Black mold was found behind the guest-bath wall.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“We were going to.”
“When? After putting the luggage in my foyer?”
“We thought you’d say no.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why.”
The logic was astonishing.
Claire asked:
“Do you have documentation that your residence is temporarily uninhabitable?”
Julia produced an email from their condo association.
Water damage.
Remediation recommended.
Residents in three units offered hotel reimbursement.
Their unit could remain occupied with containment measures, but temporary relocation was suggested.
So the housing problem was real.
That complicated everything.
“Why one month?” Claire asked.
“The contractor said three to five weeks.”
Maybe the phrase was ordinary.
Maybe not.
Then:
“Why did you ask my office about Eleanor’s capacity?”
Rachel started crying.
“Because Mom isn’t okay.”
I sat very still.
“Explain.”
“You repeat things.”
“Everyone does.”
“You left the stove on.”
Once.
Six months earlier.
A pot of soup simmered until a smoke alarm sounded.
I was in the garden.
Careless.
Not senile.
“You missed a tax payment.”
“I didn’t miss it. The automatic draft changed after the bank merger.”
“You forgot my birthday dinner was at seven.”
“I arrived at seven twenty.”
“You called me twice asking what day the cardiologist appointment was.”
“That happened.”
Rachel continued.
“You got lost driving home from Nora’s.”
Nora was my sister.
“I missed an exit.”
“You called me crying.”
“I was grieving Martin.”
“That was two years after he died.”
Grief apparently has an expiration date.
Claire intervened.
“Has Eleanor ever been medically diagnosed with cognitive impairment?”
“No.”
“Has a physician advised her to stop managing finances?”
“No.”
“Driving?”
“No.”
“Has she failed to pay utilities?”
“No.”
“Been exploited financially?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Yes.”
My head turned.
“By whom?”
She looked at Claire.
“Mom gave eighteen thousand dollars to a roofing contractor before work started.”
I almost laughed.
“He required a deposit.”
“The company later went bankrupt.”
“And the insurer reimbursed most of it.”
“You lost four thousand dollars.”
“I made a bad contractor choice.”
“Exactly.”
I stared.
“A bad choice is not incapacity.”
Rachel covered her face.
“I’m scared.”
That softened something despite myself.
Then Claire asked:
“What did you intend to do if Eleanor allowed you to stay for a month?”
“Help.”
“With what?”
“Meals. Medications. Appointments.”
“Document anything?”
Rachel’s hand stopped.
Julia looked at her.
That was not good.
Claire repeated:
“Rachel?”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“A routine log.”
My stomach tightened.
“Whose idea?”
“Mine.”
“What kind of log?”
“Meals. Medication. Sleep. Confusion.”
There.
A daughter worried about memory could reasonably keep notes.
A daughter preparing litigation could keep the same notes.
Context was everything.
Then Claire placed one document on the table.
A copy of my trust summary.
“Do you understand that you are not currently trustee?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother is.”
“Yes.”
“You are named successor only under defined conditions.”
“I know.”
“And living with Eleanor for a month would not make you trustee.”
“I know.”
“Then why did you ask whether a caregiver could obtain emergency financial authority?”
Rachel looked toward her attorney.
Julia said:
“You may answer if you choose.”
Rachel whispered:
“Because Trent said if Mom got worse suddenly, somebody had to be able to protect the house.”
The house.
Not me.
I heard the difference.
“What is wrong with my house?”
Rachel said:
“Nothing.”
“Then what needed protecting?”
Silence.
Claire leaned back.
“Rachel, did Trent discuss borrowing against Eleanor’s property?”
“No.”
Too fast.
“Did he discuss her brokerage account?”
“No.”
“Her trust?”
“No.”
Then:
“Did he discuss your inheritance?”
Rachel began crying again.
May you like
That answer was not verbal.
It did not need to be.
