Chapter 4 - The Trucks Arrived at Sunrise
Mother met me in the foyer.
“What is this?”
“Good morning.”
“Don't patronize me.”
Three movers waited behind me with clipboards.
My attorney, Rebecca Sloan, stood near the entrance.
Mother looked at her.
“You brought a lawyer?”
“I brought clarity.”
“This is a family matter.”
“That stopped being an argument you could make last night.”
Paige appeared on the staircase.
She looked as if she hadn't slept.
I didn't acknowledge her.
Mother stepped closer.
“You're not emptying this house because your wife had an emotional episode.”
I held her gaze.
“Be very careful with the next sentence.”
She stopped.
I handed the movers the inventory.
“Primary bedroom. My office. Caleb's nursery. Audrey's study. Everything marked on pages one through seven.”
The first two movers headed upstairs.
Mother moved to block them.
Rebecca stepped forward.
“Mrs. Whitmore, they have authorization.”
“From whom?”
“From the controlling resident.”
Mother looked at me.
“This is the Whitmore house.”
“Yes.”
“My house.”
“No.”
That single word seemed to offend her more than anything I had said the previous night.
After my father died, the estate had been placed into a family property structure. Mother retained lifetime use of the east residential wing and several formal rooms.
But primary control had passed to me.
I had never enforced that distinction.
Why would I?
Mother had lived there for decades.
Then Audrey and I moved in after our marriage, and I let habit become authority.
Mother had gradually begun behaving as if my wife were a guest.
And I had allowed it.
“You can't remove me,” she said.
“I'm not.”
She blinked.
“This isn't revenge.”
I gestured toward the stairs.
“Audrey and Caleb are leaving. I'm leaving. Your legitimate rights remain intact.”
Her shoulders relaxed slightly.
Then I continued.
“But your control over my household ended last night.”
Her face hardened.
Movers carried down boxes.
Caleb's bassinet.
Audrey's books.
My suits.
Photographs.
The framed picture of Audrey holding Caleb for the first time.
Mother watched our life disappear through her front door one object at a time.
Then Mrs. Alvarez approached me.
She had worked at the estate for eleven years.
“Mr. Whitmore?”
“Yes?”
She held something in both hands.
A phone.
Audrey's.
“Where did you find that?”
She looked toward Mother.
“Mrs. Whitmore gave it to me.”
I glanced at Audrey's initials on the case.
“You mean Audrey?”
“No, sir.”
Mrs. Alvarez swallowed.
“Your mother.”
The foyer went silent.
Mother said, “This is absurd.”
I turned on the phone.
The battery was nearly dead.
There were drafts.
Unsent messages.
Call attempts.
I opened Audrey's conversation with me.
The last message I had received was from Wednesday evening.
Caleb finally slept for three hours. I feel like we won the lottery. Love you.
But below it were drafts I had never seen.
Can you call me when you're alone?
Another.
Your mother changed Caleb's appointment without asking me.
Another.
And then:
Grant, please call me. Your mother is trying to make decisions about Caleb without me.
I looked at the timestamp.
Thursday.
2:11 p.m.
Hours before I came home.
My hands went cold.
I checked my own phone.
Nothing.
No message.
No missed call.
I looked at Paige.
She had reached the bottom of the stairs.
Her face had gone white.
“Paige.”
She didn't answer.
I held up Audrey's phone.
“What did Mom do to Audrey's messages?”
Paige looked at Mother.
Mother said sharply, “Don't.”
That one word told me there was more.
May you like
A lot more.
And this time, I wasn't leaving until I knew all of it.
