Chapter 2 - The Secrets Hidden Beneath the Wool
The early evening descended like a suffocating shroud over the dinner table.
Daniel had ordered expensive takeout from an upscale steakhouse in town, insisting that Mom was far too agitated to tolerate the noise of home cooking.
Throughout the meal, Mom barely touched the mashed potatoes Vanessa spooned onto her plate.
She sat stiffly in her dining chair, still wrapped in the heavy wool coat despite the beads of perspiration gathering along her hairline.
Every time I tried to ask Mom a direct question about her garden, her neighbors, or her bridge club, Daniel cut in smoothly.
“She doesn’t remember Mrs. Higgins, Claire, Mrs. Higgins moved to Florida six months ago,” Daniel said with a dismissive wave of his butter knife.
“Mom forgets names within five minutes of hearing them now.”
Vanessa placed a manicured hand over Daniel’s wrist, casting a theatrical, martyred sigh toward the ceiling.
“People from the outside don’t realize how exhausting caregiving is,” Vanessa said, aiming a pointed glare straight into my eyes.
“You disappeared into the state capitol to build your glorious career, leaving us to clean up the mess here.”
“We’ve sacrificed our vacations, our privacy, and our sanity to make sure Evelyn has round-the-clock care,” she continued.
“So forgive us if we don’t throw a parade every time you decide to show up unannounced for two hours.”
Daniel reached into his leather briefcase on the sideboard and pulled out a neat stack of medical receipts and prescription printouts.
He laid them on the tablecloth beside my wine glass like evidence in an audit.
“I manage her medications, her doctors, and her accounts now,” Daniel stated firmly, leaning forward onto his forearms.
“The family attorney drew up full durable power of attorney two months ago when her memory took a severe plunge.”
“She needs stability, Claire, not emotional disruptions from relatives who don't understand the routine.”
I watched him carefully, noting how his thumb twitched against the rim of his water glass whenever he spoke about the power of attorney.
Guilty men always provide documentation before anyone asks to see it.
I did not challenge him.
I did not question the receipts.
In the courtroom, you never let the target know what part of their testimony you intend to dismantle.
“You’re right,” I said softly, taking a measured sip of water and softening my expression into one of remorseful humility.
“I’ve been buried in casework, and I haven't carried my fair share of the burden.”
Daniel’s shoulders dropped slightly, a smug smirk flickering at the edge of his mouth.
Vanessa glanced at her husband, clearly satisfied that their preemptive guilt-trip had cowed me into submission.
“Since I’m staying the night in the guest room, let me handle Mom’s evening routine,” I offered with an apologetic smile.
“I can help her bathe, get her into fresh pajamas, and let you two have a quiet evening to yourselves.”
Vanessa stiffened immediately, her fork freezing halfway to her mouth.
“That won’t be necessary,” Vanessa said, her voice rising an octave.
“She hates being bathed by anyone other than me.”
“She gets violent and combative in the water when she’s confused.”
Before Vanessa could elaborate, Mom accidentally knocked her water glass with her trembling elbow.
The glass tumbled onto the mahogany table, shattering into three pieces and sending ice water across the polished wood.
“I’m sorry,” Mom gasped, her voice shrill with an absolute, unadulterated terror that made no sense for a spilled glass.
“I’m sorry, Vanessa, please, I didn't mean to, please don’t—”
“See what I mean?” Vanessa snapped, standing up quickly to brush drops from her silk blouse.
“Her motor skills are completely deteriorated.”
“I’ve got it,” I said calmly, rising from my seat before Vanessa could round the table.
I took Mom gently by the arm, feeling how frail her frame was under the thick padding of the coat.
Her pulse was hammering against her wrist like the wings of a trapped bird.
“Come on, Mom,” I whispered gently.
“Let’s get you cleaned up and into the bathroom.”
Daniel looked ready to intervene, stepping toward us, but I gave him a warm, reassuring smile.
“Go finish your dinner, Daniel,” I told him smoothly.
“I took care of Mom when Dad was sick, remember? I know how to handle her.”
Before Daniel could formulate a reasonable excuse to stop me without looking overtly suspicious, I guided Mom out of the dining room.
We moved slowly down the corridor, her slippers dragging along the oak floorboards.
The moment we stepped inside the master bathroom, I shut the heavy wooden door behind us and turned the brass lock.
Mom immediately backed away from me, pressing herself against the tiled wall beside the vanity.
Her eyes were wide, white rims showing around her faded blue irises, filled with an agonizing desperation.
“Mom, sweetheart, it’s just me,” I whispered, reaching out to touch the collar of her coat.
“Let’s take this heavy coat off so you can wash up.”
The second my fingers grazed the top button, a strangled, animalistic scream tore from her throat.
She dropped to her knees on the bath mat, wrapping both arms violently around herself.
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“Please… please don’t take off my coat!” she wept, her voice trembling in ragged gasps.
“Don’t make them angry, Claire… please, if Daniel sees, he’ll punish me again!”
