Part 2

Everett could have softened the truth. He could have told Loretta there had been a misunderstanding, that the piano was being repaired, that he would explain when she felt stronger.

His family had survived for years on softened truths.

“They sold it,” he said. “A collector paid ninety-five thousand dollars. Mom and Dad used the money for Delaney’s Mercedes.”

For several seconds, Loretta said nothing. Everett heard the quiet machinery of her hospice room and the faint rattle of a cart moving down the corridor.

When she finally spoke, her voice was not shocked. It was precise.

“Are you at the lake house?”

“Yes.”

“Put your father on the phone.”

Calvin shook his head before Everett even extended it. “This is cruel.”

“She asked for you.”

Calvin accepted the phone as if it were evidence being handed to him. He walked toward the edge of the driveway.

“Mom, listen, we made a practical decision. The piano was deteriorating. Delaney needed—”

He stopped.

Everyone watched his face.

“No,” he said. “I don’t think that’s necessary.”

Another pause.

“Miles hasn’t handled our affairs in years.”

The color left his cheeks.

He held the phone away from his ear and looked at Everett. “She hung up.”

“What did she say?” Gwen asked.

Calvin returned the phone without answering. He untied the red bow from the Mercedes with quick, angry movements. Delaney demanded to know what was happening, but he told her to drive the car into the garage.

Everett knew one name from the conversation: Miles, Loretta’s attorney. He had met him twice, both times at the lake house. Miles had an unhurried manner that made impatient people talk too much.

Calvin went indoors and closed the study door. Gwen followed. Their voices rose behind the wood.

Delaney remained beside the car, her new keys pressed into her palm.

“You had to ruin it,” she said.

“I told her what happened.”

“She’s dying. What good does it do to make her angry now?”

Everett looked at his sister. Delaney was twenty-seven, five years younger than him, and had been protected from consequences so consistently that she often mistook discomfort for injury.

“The question isn’t why I told her,” he said. “It’s why everyone thought she should die without knowing.”

Delaney’s eyes filled, but Everett did not rush to comfort her. He had done that too many times—after tuition bills, lost jobs, late rent, and one expensive engagement that ended before the invitations were mailed. Their parents called him steady when they needed help and disappointing when he wanted a life of his own.

He returned to the music room.

On the lowest shelf, he found a metronome Loretta had owned since college. It still ticked when he moved the weight. He set it on the windowsill, and the small wooden arm divided the silence into equal pieces.

Twenty minutes later, Calvin appeared in the doorway.

“You will not contact Miles,” he said.

“I wasn’t planning to.”

“You will not discuss this with anyone else in the family.”

“Why?”

Calvin’s gaze moved to the pale rectangle on the floor.

“Because your grandmother is confused about certain documents.”

Everett turned off the metronome.

“What documents?”

His father did not answer.

At six that evening, Miles called Everett directly. He said Loretta wanted him present at the lake house on Saturday, during Delaney’s promotion party.

“Why the party?” Everett asked.

Miles paused.

“Because your grandmother believes a family decision should be corrected in front of the family that benefited from it.”