Chapter 6 - The Woman at the Gate
I did not go outside alone.
I called my neighbor Frank, a retired school principal who had been my friend for twenty years, and asked him to meet me on the porch.
Then I stepped into the night with my phone in my hand.
The woman at the gate seemed younger than I expected, perhaps thirty, with a tired face and a raincoat buttoned to the throat.
“Are you Arthur Bennett?” she asked.
“I am.”
She looked from me to Frank.
“I understand why you're careful.”
She opened the folder but did not hand it over immediately.
“Claire fired me after I questioned one of these signatures.”
There were photocopies of forms, appointment notes, and an email thread.
A document titled Temporary Caregiving Authorization named Claire as the person empowered to make decisions about Margot if Emmett became unavailable.
Beneath it was an unsigned draft labeled Petition for Limited Guardianship.
I searched the pages until I found the name that had brought Mara to my door.
Phoebe Bennett.
Someone had typed my daughter's name beneath a declaration that she had consented to the arrangement.
But no dated handwritten signature appeared on that copy.
“This is a draft,” I said.
“Yes,” Mara replied.
“I don't want you thinking it proves anyone forged anything.”
I appreciated her precision.
“What it does prove is that someone considered using a deceased person's consent in a family-court document.”
Frank leaned closer to look.
“Why would anyone do that?”
Mara's gaze drifted toward the window behind which Margot slept.
“Claire wanted to move after the wedding.”
“She kept saying the girl would adjust if she stopped seeing her grandfather so often.”
I felt an ache beneath my ribs.
It was one thing to exclude Margot from photographs.
It was another to imagine her life without the people and memories that anchored her.
“Where did she want to move?” I asked.
“Raleigh, near Vivian's family.”
“And Emmett?”
“She expected him to agree after the ceremony.”
Mara handed me her contact information and asked that I speak with an attorney rather than circulate the papers.
I gave her my word.
Then she added a detail that made the air seem colder.
“Oliver isn't Claire's son.”
I stared at her.
“He's her nephew,” Mara said.
“Her sister's child.”
Before I could ask another question, headlights swept across the lawn.
Emmett's car stopped in front of the house.
May you like
Claire stepped out of the passenger seat first.
