“Step away from the door, Richard,” she said.
My father turned toward her.
“This is family business, Ruth.”
“No,” she replied. “This is trespassing.”
My mother straightened.
“How dare you speak to your brother that way.”
Aunt Ruth regarded her with quiet disgust.
“I drove alone through a storm to bury Claire’s husband and babies while you were eating birthday cake. Don’t lecture me about manners.”
For once, my father had no immediate response.
He was not embarrassed because he regretted anything.
He was embarrassed because Ruth had spoken loudly enough for the neighbor across the street to hear.
Appearances had always been my family’s true religion.
Not love.
Not loyalty.
If Melissa screamed at me, I was told not to provoke her.
When she ruined my graduation dress because she wanted attention, I was expected to be gracious.
My parents had never asked whether something hurt me.
They had only cared about who had witnessed it.
Funerals reveal people.
So does money.
My father faced the doorbell camera again.
“Claire, we’re not here about the money.”
“Then what took you six months?” I asked.
Once again, he had no answer.
My mother stepped closer.
“Nobody said anything about money.”
Aunt Ruth crossed her arms.
“You drove here after seeing the settlement amount.”
“We drove here because she’s isolating herself,” my mother replied.
“No,” I said. “I’m protecting myself.”
Daniel Price arrived in a black sedan and parked at the curb.
He walked toward the house wearing a charcoal overcoat and carrying a folder under one arm. His expression was the same one he wore during depositions—no expression at all.
“Mr. and Mrs. Harper,” he said. “You’ve been notified in writing not to come to this property uninvited.”
My father insisted I was his daughter.
“She is a thirty-four-year-old adult,” Daniel replied. “Who has made her wishes clear.”
“She’s grieving and being manipulated,” my mother said, glancing at Aunt Ruth.
Daniel opened the folder.
CONTINUED ON THE NEXT PAGE.
