Part 3 — The Basement Light
The name written under WITNESS belonged to Roy Tindall, my sisters husband. He had eaten my pot roast every Thanksgiving for twenty years. Beside his signature was a notary stamp from a woman who, as it turned out, had never met my mother.
The page was a power of attorney and a transfer of Moms house into Denise and Roys names. It was signed nine days earlier at the kitchen table. Mom told the investigator that Denise had called it a form for her medication.
Early the next morning a judge ordered an independent evaluation. A neurologist spent three hours with Mom. She drew a clock, counted backward by sevens, and told the whole story of her wedding day, including the rain.
The report was plain. An ordinary seventy-nine-year-old memory, a few misplaced glasses, nothing more. She was fully capable of running her own affairs.
The court voided the power of attorney and the deed, because a paper signed through deception has no force in law. They were struck from the county records within the week. A protective order kept Mom safe from the house on Birch Street.
Denise was charged along with Roy. At the arraignment she cried and did not look at me. Afterward she told me she was buried in debt, and had told herself it was all for Moms care.
The judge gave her probation, repayment, and counseling, and ordered no contact unless Mom decided otherwise. It was a hard day, and a fair one.
Mom moved into my spare room, the one with the window that faces the garden. I took a week off from the trucking company. She asked me to show her my route, so we drove a short loop, and she waved at every semi we passed.
Memory can fade like old paint, but a mothers heart still knows exactly which of her children she can trust.
I screwed a little brass hook beside the front door for her glasses. They were on top of her head the whole time, as usual, and we laughed until she had to sit down.
In the spring I drove her to Dads grave with a pot of yellow tulips. She laid her hand on the stone and said, “I knew you would come, Benjamin. I tapped three and three on that window every day until you did.”