Chapter 9: Patricia's Last Move
She called on a Tuesday morning.
Daniel was at work.
I was alone in the kitchen with my coffee and my laptop, going through emails from Carol, when my phone rang.
Patricia's name on the screen.
I answered.
"I'd like to meet," she said.
"Just the two of us.
No lawyers, no Daniel, no Gerald."
"Why?" I said.
"Because I want to speak to you honestly.
Woman to woman." A pause.
"I think we've both been caught up in something that's gotten larger than it needed to be."
I said nothing.
"Emily.
I know I owe you an apology.
A real one.
I'd like to give it to you in person."
I thought about Diane's face in the coffee shop.
I thought about what Carol had said: *legally and publicly are two different things.* I thought about the way Patricia had smiled in the sitting room when she mentioned lawyers.
"All right," I said.
"My house.
This afternoon."
A brief pause.
She had expected me to suggest somewhere neutral.
"Fine," she said.
"Three o'clock."
She arrived exactly on time.
I opened the door and she stood on the step in a camel coat, her hair perfect, a small bag over one arm.
She looked at the doorframe — at the house that was mine — and something moved briefly across her face before she controlled it.
I stepped back.
She came in.
I didn't offer coffee.
I led her to the sitting room and we sat across from each other, and I waited.
"I've been thinking about how this started," Patricia said.
"And I think we both know it didn't start on Christmas night."
"No," I said.
"It started seven years ago."
She held my gaze.
"I was hard on you.
I can see that now.
I had a certain idea of what was right for Daniel, and when things didn't match that idea, I—" She paused.
"I handled it badly."
"You sl@pped me," I said.
"In front of your entire family."
"I know."
"Your son told me you were teaching me how to be a better wife."
She looked down at her hands.
"Daniel has his own things to answer for.
I'm not here to speak for him."
"Then what are you here for?"
She looked up.
"I want to propose something.
A clean resolution.
Gerald's legal situation, the accounts, the deed — all of it.
I want to sit down with both attorneys and find a settlement that works for everyone.
No court dates, no depositions, no public record."
There it was.
"You want to keep it quiet," I said.
"I want to protect what's left of this family."
"Patricia." I kept my voice even.
"Your husband is in a hotel.
Your daughter hasn't spoken to you since Christmas.
Your son is sitting across from me every night trying to figure out who he is outside of your approval.
There isn't much left to protect."
Her jaw tightened.
"If this goes to a formal hearing, Gerald's finances become public record.
His health history becomes public record.
Do you understand what that means for him?
At his age?"
"Gerald's attorney is handling Gerald's interests," I said.
"That's not your concern anymore."
"He is my husband—"
"Who you took forty thousand dollars from," I said.
"Without telling him."
The room went very still.
Patricia set her bag on the cushion beside her.
She reached into it slowly and removed a folded document.
She set it on the table between us.
"I had this drawn up this morning," she said.
"It's a settlement proposal.
You keep the deed.
Gerald drops the financial misconduct claim.
Everything is resolved privately.
No further legal action from either side."
I looked at the document.
I didn't pick it up.
"And what do you get?" I said.
"Peace," she said.
"And my husband's medical history stays out of a courtroom."
"Gerald's medical history is clean," I said.
"You know that.
You drove him to the neurologist."
Something flickered in her eyes.
"There are other records."
"Are there?"
She held my gaze.
"He had a difficult period.
Several years ago.
Before the transfer.
There are records from that time that could be interpreted in more than one way.
I would prefer they not be interpreted publicly."
I looked at her for a long moment.
At the careful hair and the camel coat and the hands folded in her lap.
At the woman who had spent seven years making me feel like a guest in my own life.
"I'm going to need you to leave now," I said.
She blinked.
"Emily—"
"I'm going to send this document to Carol Vance.
And I'm going to call Gerald and tell him exactly what you just said to me." I stood up.
"If there are medical records you're planning to use as leverage against your own husband, his attorney will want to know that before you do anything with them."
Patricia stood slowly.
"You're making a mistake."
"I've made a lot of mistakes," I said.
"Mostly by staying quiet.
I'm done with that."
She picked up her bag.
She walked to the front door and I followed her.
She paused on the step and turned back.
"I did love him," she said.
"Gerald.
Whatever you think of me."
"I believe you," I said.
"I don't think love is the problem."
I closed the door.
I stood in the hallway for a moment, my hand still on the door handle, the house quiet around me.
Then I picked up my phone and called Carol.
"She just left," I said.
"She tried to use Gerald's medical history as leverage to get him to drop the financial misconduct claim."
A pause on Carol's end.
"She said that explicitly?"
"Explicitly enough."
"Emily, that may constitute attempted coercion.
I need you to write down everything she said, word for word, while it's fresh.
Can you do that right now?"
"Yes," I said.
"I can."
I sat down at the kitchen table with a notepad and I wrote it all down.
Every word.
Every pause.
The document on the table.
The camel coat.
The way she had said *I would prefer they not be interpreted publicly.*
May you like
When I finished, I looked at what I had written.
Then I picked up the phone and called Gerald.
