The Final Accounting Put A Price On My Aunt's Choices

I sent the voicemail to Lena before I went to bed.

In the morning, she told Grant that all further contact about the estate needed to come through counsel. I did not call Mireya back.

For years, I had rushed to answer her. I had left hot pans, cold showers, and half my dinner because she might need something.

That morning, I finished kneading the bread.

I had begun selling lunch boxes to workers near the landing while the theater stayed closed. Eight dollars bought beans, rice, bread, and a piece of fruit. Ellen had approved my use of the galley, with every food bill and payment kept apart from estate funds. The small profit paid for gas and groceries. Waiting for papers did not mean I could stop making a living.

Ellen's audit separated the $9,420 bank transfer into two parts. Mireya had paid $3,020 for Grandpa's funeral. The funeral home's receipt proved it. The rest, $6,400, had become a payment to herself for family consulting.

There was no agreement, time sheet, or bill from Grandpa. Her claimed authority to use his account had ended with his death.

"The funeral cost was real," Ellen told me. "We'll credit it."

"Even after everything?"

"Yes. We use the same ruler for every line."

I wrote that on a clean scrap of sack.

At the accounting hearing, Mireya's lawyer stopped calling the $6,400 a debt. He called it a misunderstanding.

The judge ordered her to return it. The order also required her to pay $4,800 toward the legal costs her false filing had caused, supported by the lawyers' billing records.

Cal's deposit was handled through a separate written settlement. Mireya agreed to return his $6,000 and pay his $750 equipment cancellation charge. He gave up any claim to the barge. His truck would not return with a cutting crew.

He called me after his payment cleared.

"Good luck with the theater," he said. "Better use for it."

"Thank you for stopping."

"Court order made that an easy choice."

We both laughed a little. It had not felt easy that Monday.

Ellen collected Mireya's $6,400 repayment before approving any cash gift to her under the real will. The costs award was paid too. The lawyers credited my account and returned the $1,200 I had advanced.

I gave Amos a check that evening.

He held it at arm's length.

"Interest?"

"You didn't charge any."

"Could've charged biscuits."

"You got biscuits."

"Fair enough."

He pulled my signed loan note from his wallet, wrote Paid across it, and handed it back. I kept that paper too.

The prosecutor's office asked me for a statement about the false will and Mireya's messages. I went with Lena. I answered what I knew, and said when I did not know something.

A charge of forgery followed. Mireya had her own lawyer for that case. The estate court had not sentenced her, and I had no vote over the charge.

It was a relief to leave that part with people whose job it was to handle it.

Meanwhile, the barge needed work that no ruling could do.

Ellen approved the surveyor's $7,800 repair plan as work needed to preserve the estate's boat. A licensed crew welded the listed patches. I carried tools and made lunch. Each repair went into the maintenance log with an invoice and a photograph.

The estate also paid $2,640 in valid old bills. Ellen kept enough cash for administration costs before calculating Mireya's remaining gift.

There was enough without selling the barge. Grandpa had saved slowly, in the same stubborn way he had bought used lights one at a time.

Mireya tried one last letter. She reported the theater as unsafe to the local offices that dealt with its use. Ellen supplied the survey and repair reports. The required inspections were completed, and the theater received its approvals to reopen.

I kept her complaint in the file beside those approvals. It had led to another check of work I wanted checked anyway.

Through Owen, I offered her a time to collect her own things from Grandpa's room. She took a framed photograph, a scarf, and a tin of letters under Ellen's supervision. Everything was listed and signed for.

I kept the small recipe book Grandpa had given me years earlier. There was no fight over it. Mireya had already listed it as having no sale value.

I started planning three supper shows. Seventy-two seats each night. Thirty dollars for admission and a meal. I counted food costs before I let myself count applause.

Then Ellen called and asked me to meet her at the landing.

She stood by the gate with a thick envelope against her coat.

"The estate work is finished," she said. "These are the papers that let me hand you the keys."