Eventually I found it beneath a stack of oven mitts in a kitchen drawer.
Vanessa walked in while I was holding it.
“There.”
She smiled sadly.
“You found it.”
“I did.”
“You’ve been looking all morning.”
“I asked you once.”
Her expression changed.
“Robert, you asked me three times.”
“No.”
Daniel was standing behind her.
I saw his face.
Concern.
Vanessa turned toward him.
“See?”
Then she lowered her voice.
“He doesn’t even remember asking.”
My heart hurt more from Daniel’s expression than Vanessa’s lie.
That evening he approached me in the living room.
“Dad.”
“Yes?”
“Can we talk?”
I muted the television.
He sat.
For several seconds, he struggled to begin.
Then:
“Would you be willing to see a doctor?”
I understood instantly.
“For my memory?”
“It doesn’t have to be a big thing.”
“Daniel.”
“Please.”
His eyes filled with worry.
“I just want to know you’re okay.”
I could have become angry.
Instead, I saw a frightened son.
Vanessa’s cruelty depended on turning his love into suspicion.
I refused to help her.
“I’ll go.”
Daniel looked relieved.
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“But I want you to remember something.”
“What?”
“I know where I put my keys.”
He lowered his eyes.
That night, I began a notebook.
Railroad habits returned immediately.
Date.
Time.
Event.
Witness.
February 4, 8:10 a.m.
Keys absent from normal location. Vanessa produced them from her coat and claimed refrigerator.
February 11, 9:25 a.m.
Wallet missing. Located kitchen drawer beneath oven mitts. Vanessa claimed I asked about it three times. Actual number: once.
February 18.
Vanessa told Daniel I nearly fell on stairs. No fall occurred.
February 21.
She claimed stove left on. I had not used stove that morning.
At first, writing those entries made me feel foolish.
Then I overheard the phone call.
The home office door was open several inches.
Vanessa was talking to someone.
I was walking past when I heard my name.
“He still has control of everything.”
I stopped.
Pause.
“No, Daniel doesn’t technically own the house.”
Another pause.
“It’ll work itself out.”
Vanessa laughed.
“As long as Daniel believes his father is becoming mentally incompetent, handling financial decisions later will be a lot easier.”
Every muscle in my body tightened.
Her friend said something I could not hear.
Vanessa replied:
“I’m not doing anything wrong. I’m protecting our future.”
I stepped away before she saw me.
That afternoon, I called Arthur.
He had been my attorney for more than twenty-five years.
Estate planning.
Property.
Helen’s probate.
Daniel’s business.
Arthur had white hair now and claimed he was retired even though he continued working four days a week.
We met in his office.
I brought the notebook.
He read silently.
Then removed his glasses.
“Robert.”
“Yes.”
“Do not confront her yet.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
“Good.”
He tapped the notebook.
“This is concerning, but right now much of it is your account versus hers.”
“I know.”
“Does Vanessa have access to your bank accounts?”
“No.”