He had replaced their garbage disposal, rebuilt two deck steps, found them a plumber, fought with their cable company, organized Medicare paperwork, and somehow become the only person alive who knew where Richard kept the password to his brokerage account.
When Richard had his knee replaced, Mark used eleven vacation days between the surgery, the miserable first week afterward, and physical therapy.
Susan lived in South Carolina.
Rebecca lived in Arizona.
They weren’t bad daughters.
Susan called every Sunday. Rebecca visited when she could. Both remembered birthdays, sent presents, and loved their parents.
But whenever something leaked, broke, beeped, expired, needed a signature, or required a driver before eight in the morning, Mark’s phone rang.
On our drive home from the anniversary dinner, I waited until we reached I-270.
“Do you want to talk about the will?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
I let another mile pass.
“Because I’d be angry.”
Mark kept his eyes on the road. “It’s their money.”
“I know.”
“They can leave it to whoever they want.”
“I know that too.”
He glanced at me. “You agreeing with me this much is making me nervous.”
I almost smiled.
“Mark, I’m not asking whether they have the legal right to do it.”
He knew what I meant.
For a while, there was only the sound of the tires and the clicking turn signal as he changed lanes.
Finally he said, “The money isn’t what bothered me.”
“What did?”
He gave a tired little laugh. “I’m still trying to figure that out.”
We left it there.
The next morning, I woke and reached across the bed.
Mark’s side was empty.
The clock read 6:12.
I found him downstairs at the kitchen table with coffee and his laptop.
“You’re either working ridiculously early,” I said, opening the refrigerator, “or shopping for something you don’t want me to see.”
“Neither.”
I poured coffee and walked behind him.
A job listing filled his screen.
Regional director, Mountain Region.
Denver, Colorado.
I stopped.
Mark’s company had offered him that job before.
More than once.
“I thought you already told them no.”
“I did.”
“How many times?”
He kept looking at the screen.
“Three.”
I pulled out the chair across from him. “Then why are you looking at it now?”
For the first time since Patricia’s announcement, he wrapped both hands around his mug and looked directly at me.
