“No.”
He looked toward Dad’s headstone.
Then he said, “Grandpa hated Dad.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“He didn’t hate him.”
“He absolutely hated him.”
“He thought Mark was arrogant.”
“That’s Mom-language for hate.”
My father had never fully trusted Mark.
At my wedding, Dad pulled me aside and said, “Carol, I hope I’m wrong about him. But never give away so much of yourself that you can’t stand if he disappoints you.”
For thirty-one years, I thought he’d been unfair.
That night, I wanted to apologize to him.
Daniel looked at me.
“You said we were going to do something.”
“Yes.”
“What?”
“We don’t confront them tonight.”
His expression hardened.
“Why?”
“Because right now, we’re angry and they’re comfortable.”
“I don’t want them comfortable.”
“Neither do I.”
I took the phone from him.
“But if we warn them now, they get time to delete messages, move money, and prepare stories. We need to know what we’re dealing with first.”
