18. Meredith
MEREDITH
June keeps tapping her knee, fast and rhythmic, as if it might summon the doctor sooner. Sophie’s arms are wrapped around herself, phone clenched in one hand, her knuckles white. Her makeup is smeared under her eyes, and she hasn’t spoken since we all piled into the back of June’s car.
Hospitals are like purgatory. All white walls and cold tile, waiting rooms that smell like antiseptic and coffee from a pot that’s been on too long.
The three of us sit in a row of seats under a flickering fluorescent light, saying nothing, because saying anything might make this more real than it already is.
Ironically, the comedown of the episode I was having on the beach is helping skew my perception of reality quite nicely.
Adding zero sleep into the mix, plus the fact that I haven’t eaten since I helped myself to half a spare crab roll yesterday afternoon, and I’m sitting fairly comfortably in the denial phase.
I can’t imagine I look very put together right now—especially with sand falling from my hair every time I move—but I definitely feel more put together than my sisters. This is how I rationalize why, when the doors finally swing open, the first person Richard looks at is me.
“Can I talk to you for a moment?”
I feel June and Sophie freeze up at my sides. I didn’t even realize he was here.
With all the dignity I can muster, I cross my legs and push my sand-shedding hair back over my shoulder. “Where’s the doctor?”
“He’ll be out in just a moment.” Richard’s irritation is already clouding his features. “Let’s go outside for a quick chat.”
June shoots me a warning glance, but I’m too tired to be diplomatic.
“Whatever you have to say to me, you can do so here.”
Finally, he regards the others with a flick of his eyes in their direction. “She doesn’t want them to know.”
“With all due respect,” June cuts in with notably very little respect in her tone. “She’s our mother. We deserve to know if she’s all right.”
Richard’s sigh is long-suffering, but there’s no breaking our united agreement. “She’s stable. They’re monitoring her overnight.”
Sophie lets out a breath of relief, and June sits back in her seat.
“She’s got a UTI,” he continues. Then, as if he can’t quite help himself, he adds, “Which might not sound like much, but in patients with dementia, it can trigger confusion, even unconsciousness.”
Dementia.
The word lands like a cannonball.
I stare at him blinkingly, and then feel everything sharpen around the edges. “What are you talking about?”
His jaw twitches as if we’re being unreasonable, as if he’s not happy to tell us this. “She was diagnosed three years ago. Early onset, at first. She didn’t want to say anything.”
My body feels like stone. “You knew. You knew and didn’t tell us?”
“She wanted a normal summer,” he says, shrugging like that explains anything. “She didn’t want your pity. She wanted time with her daughters, not hovering or judgment or—whatever this is.”
“But she collapsed,” June says, her voice trembling. “You don’t get to hide things that put her in danger.”
“She’s declining,” he says. “Faster than the doctors predicted.”
There’s a beat of silence.
Then he drops it.
“And she’s given me power of attorney.”
“What?” Sophie’s voice is small but sharp.
“I’ve been handling things for a while now,” Richard goes on. “She asked me to, after she accidentally burned herself the other day. It’s all in writing, witnessed, and notarized. Which means, moving forward, I’ll be making decisions in her best interest. Starting with the Shack.”
My brain short-circuits.
“What decisions?” I ask, though I already know.
He meets my eyes. “Selling it.”
“No,” I say too quickly, too loudly. “Absolutely not.”
“This has gone on long enough,” Richard raises his voice over June’s protests. “It was hard for her before, but now that you’re all here, it’s making her push herself too much. You saw what happened with the pie.”
June manages to shout over him. “We’ll get someone else to bake the pies!”
“I knew we should never have invited you all here.” Richard is seething now.
“It was a courtesy, not a challenge for you to accept. Do you have any idea how confusing this all is for her? Having you all here, talking about the Shack like it’s twenty years ago?
Do you have any idea how much you’re making things worse?
And for what? A money pit that’s one strong wind away from toppling over. ”
Finally, Sophie speaks up. “That’s not how it works. You can’t stand there and accuse us of making her illness worse. If you’ve been caring for her as much as you say you have, you would know that.”
“I’m just telling you the facts.” Richard throws her a patronizing, self-important look. “And the fact is that ever since you arrived, she’s been deteriorating. Not that any of you even noticed.”
I place a hand on June’s arm when she begins to rise from her seat. “You don’t get to do this. Legally, the Shack belongs to all of us.”
There’s a smug smile on his face when he looks back at me.
“It was her name on the deed. She inherited it from your father, and after the marriage, we made sure all the paperwork reflected that. It’s been part of her separate property estate ever since.
And with me acting as her agent now, I can legally sell it. ”
I stare at him, the floor dropping out from beneath me. He did his research.
Of course, he did. Ever since I showed him up the first day we arrived, he’s been waiting to throw it back in my face.
“But the will—” June starts, then falters.
“You’re all named in it, yes,” Richard says. “But that’s the will. It doesn’t apply while she’s alive. And with her power of attorney in place, I don’t need your consent to act on her behalf. When she dies, the will becomes relevant. Until then, I’m in charge.”
The cogs in my sleep-addled brain take an excruciating moment to kick into gear.
A power of attorney gives him the authority to act as her legal and financial agent. If the Shack is titled solely in her name—and only in her name—he can sell it without our approval.
Unless we can prove she was coerced or mentally unfit at the time of signing.
Unless we find a way to undo it.
Unless we move faster.
Unless—
“Are you willing to negotiate?” I ask, but it’s barely a question. It’s a bare-faced plea.
Men like Richard only respond well to power when they are the ones in control of it. Setting my pride aside, having already humiliated us might be enough to catch his interest.
And just like clockwork, Richard rakes his eyes over me once before jerking his head toward the door.
I follow him into the hallway outside the waiting room like I’m heading into a courtroom.
“She gave you power of attorney, not ownership,” I say in lieu of small talk.
“You have a fiduciary duty to act in her best interest. Selling the Shack without exhausting other options could be interpreted as negligence.”
Richard smirks. “You’re welcome to file a complaint with the state. But unless you can prove I’m not acting in her best interest—medically, financially, or emotionally—you’re wasting your time.”
“She’s not in her right mind,” I say, voice sharp. “She collapsed this morning.”
“She was lucid when she signed the paperwork. And I had two doctors sign off on that days ago. If you want to take it to court, go ahead. I’ll be sure to tell your mom when she’s stable that you’re trying to drag her through a competency hearing.
I’m sure she’d prefer that to seeing the back end of that wretched place. ”
My hands curl into fists at my sides. “So, you admit you’ve always been waiting for the chance to get rid of the one thing that connects her to him.”
Richard doesn’t even blink. “I’m not the one who left her drowning in debt.”
I stare at him, willing myself not to react.
He leans in. “You want to play lawyer? Then be honest about the numbers. You girls think you can revive that place? One broken fridge, and you’ll be right back where he was.”
I want to punch a hole through the sterile white wall behind him. But I don’t. Instead, I say, “There’s something missing. From the records. From the finances. Something he left behind.”
Richard raises an eyebrow. “You think there’s a secret stash of money somewhere?”
I nod once. “Maybe.”
He considers that for a moment before snorting indelicately. “Let me know when you find the treasure map.”
“If I find it…” I step forward. “If I prove that he left something behind that can help us…will you reconsider?”
“Sure, I’ll consider it. But I’m meeting with the developers tomorrow, whether you agree to this or not.”
Ice trickles through my veins as he gives me one last look-over, his mouth curling into a grimace.
“This place isn’t good for you, Meredith. You looked happier in Boston.”
When I return to the waiting room, Sophie is on me instantly.
“Soph—” I start, but she holds up a hand.
“Why are you still fighting?” she asks, voice thick and cracked.
Her words land harder than anything Richard could’ve said.
The clock on the hospital wall has stopped ticking.
Or maybe time is just moving too slowly to feel real.
It’s the three of us now. No doctors. No Richard. Just the Holloway girls, waiting for a mother we’re no longer sure we know how to hold on to.
And I don’t know how to respond.
The silence stretches too long until Sophie’s voice shatters it like a dropped plate. “I can’t keep doing this.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, too softly.
“I mean…any of it. The Shack. Pretending like we have any idea what we’re doing. Watching Mom fade out in pieces.” She pushes her fingers through her perfect blond hair and turns away, pacing the length of the waiting room before returning to us. “I have to go back to L.A.”
June straightens. “Sophie?—”
“I’m not saying today. Or tomorrow. But soon. I have things…people depending on me. And I can’t—” Her voice breaks along with my heart.