Part 3

Everett spent the next four days teaching children to hold quarter notes while his own family sent him messages in increasingly urgent tones.

Gwen began with concern. She wrote that Loretta had always been emotional about the piano and that Everett should help everyone reach a peaceful solution. An hour later, she reminded him that Calvin had paid one semester of Everett’s college tuition. By evening, the message had become a warning: if Loretta’s health declined after Saturday, Everett would have to live with his part in it.

Calvin did not write at all.

Delaney sent photographs of the Mercedes from different angles and asked whether Everett really expected her to return a car that was already registered in her name.

He answered only once.

I expect the person who owned the piano to decide what happens next.

On Friday, Everett visited Loretta at the hospice residence. She was thinner than she had been the week before, but her blue eyes remained clear. A knitted blanket covered her knees. On the table beside her stood a paper cup of tea and a photograph of the lake house music room taken long ago. In it, Everett was ten years old and sitting at the piano while Loretta pointed to the score.

“Your father thinks I’m confused,” she said.

Everett pulled a chair close to the bed. “Are you?”

Loretta smiled. “Only about why I raised him to believe love meant permission.”

She told Everett that the piano had been appraised two years earlier. Its value came not only from its age, but from the maker, the preserved interior, and a record of ownership that stretched back more than a century. Loretta had declined several private offers.

“I was leaving it to you,” she said.

Everett looked at the photograph. “You never told me.”

“Because I didn’t want you hovering over it like a museum guard while I was still alive.”

He laughed, and the laugh became a tight breath in his throat.

Loretta reached for his hand.

“The piano matters,” she said. “But it is not the largest thing they took.”

Miles arrived carrying a leather folder. With Loretta’s permission, he explained the structure she had established after her husband’s death. The lake house was not owned by Calvin, although he and Gwen had lived there for years. It belonged to a trust. Loretta retained control during her lifetime, and Everett was the sole beneficiary after her death.

Calvin had been allowed to manage household expenses. He had not been given authority to sell Loretta’s separate property.

“Does he know?” Everett asked.

“He signed an acknowledgment when the trust was created,” Miles said.

Loretta’s hand tightened around Everett’s.

The truth landed differently than the piano sale. Calvin had not misunderstood. He had counted on Loretta being too ill to enforce the documents and Everett being too loyal to challenge him.

“I don’t want the house,” Everett said.

“Not yet,” Loretta replied. “You still think accepting something means you have stolen it from someone else. That is a lesson your parents taught you because it served them.”

She asked him to attend the party and stand beside her. He would not need to make a speech. He would not need to accuse anyone. Miles would explain the documents, and Loretta would explain her decision.

“What decision?”

She glanced at the folder.

“The one your father hoped I was too weak to make.”

Everett wanted to protect her from the stress. He wanted to suggest a private meeting, a quiet letter, anything that would spare her the journey and the confrontation.

Then he understood that protection, without consent, was the excuse his parents had used to silence her.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

Loretta settled back against her pillows.

“Good. And wear the navy blazer. The one that makes you look like you finally charge enough for piano lessons.”