“Because he wanted Dad to give up.”
“And why did my father tell my mother to write that letter?”
“Because he wanted you to give up.”
Lucas looked down at the phone.
“They thought they were protecting us from a life they didn’t understand.”
“They were protecting themselves from one they couldn’t control.”
A knock sounded at the front door.
We both turned.
A woman stood on the porch beneath a clear plastic raincoat. She was in her late sixties, with silver hair tucked behind her ears and a canvas folder held against her chest.
“I’m sorry to arrive unannounced,” she said when I opened the door. “I’m Margaret Bell. I was Douglas’s mother’s attorney.”
I remembered the name from the estate documents.
“Please come in.”
She entered, shaking rain from her coat.
“I received a call from Lucas this morning. He told me you had found the cottage files.”
