“Daniel asked me to join.”
Vanessa glanced at Daniel.
“For the property discussion?”
Daniel smiled.
“Exactly.”
That reassured her.
Dinner began.
Steak.
Roasted potatoes.
Vegetables.
A bottle of red wine from the cellar.
The same cellar Vanessa had once implied Daniel funded.
Halfway through the meal, she put down her fork.
“We should talk about Robert.”
My daughter looked sharply at her.
I remained still.
Daniel asked:
“What about Dad?”
Vanessa exhaled.
“We’ve delayed this long enough.”
She looked around.
“We cannot start our marriage while pretending he can continue living like this.”
My daughter said:
“Living like what?”
Vanessa turned.
“You haven’t seen what we see every day.”
“What do you see?”
“Forgetfulness.”
“Confusion.”
“Safety issues.”
My daughter looked at me.
I lifted my glass.
Perfectly steady.
Vanessa continued.
“Daniel is constantly dealing with things.”
Daniel said nothing.
She interpreted that as support.
“I’ve found a private facility.”
My daughter’s eyes widened.
“You found what?”
“A care facility.”
“For Dad?”
“Yes.”
“Does he want to go?”
Vanessa sighed.
“This is the problem.”
She looked at me.
“He doesn’t understand how much help he needs.”
I asked:
“Who decided that?”
“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re sixty-eight.”
“I know.”
“You’ve become forgetful.”
“According to whom?”
Vanessa looked at Daniel.
“Your son has seen it.”
Daniel remained silent.
I asked another question.
“Who pays for this facility?”
Vanessa answered quickly.
“Daniel can handle it.”
“And who is currently paying for me?”
Her lips tightened.
“Robert.”
“Answer.”
She looked around.
“Daniel contributes most household expenses.”
The real estate agent shifted uncomfortably.
Arthur remained expressionless.
I asked:
“Mortgage?”
Vanessa paused.
“Well, no mortgage anymore.”
“Who paid it off?”
“That’s not relevant.”
“It seems relevant to whether I’m a burden.”
She rolled her eyes.
“You’re twisting this.”
Daniel still said nothing.
That gave her courage.
She reached into her handbag.
Placed the residential-care paperwork on the table.
“You should be grateful this is being handled.”
My daughter stared at the papers.
“Vanessa.”
“What?”
“You filled this out?”
“Someone had to.”
Daniel asked quietly:
“Who signed it?”
Vanessa froze.
“What?”
“The family consent.”
She looked at him.
“You did.”
“No.”
“You gave me electronic access.”
“For wedding documents.”