“Finally.”
Dad stood.
He tightened the belt of his robe and walked around the kitchen table.
Vanessa was still talking about funeral arrangements, property, accounts, and everything she believed she had inherited from the man now standing beside me.
Dad bent toward the speakerphone.
Grant was still laughing when my father finally spoke.
“Interesting.”
Silence.
Absolute silence.
The car noise remained in the background, but Vanessa said nothing.
Grant said nothing.
Dad leaned a little closer.
“Tell me more about my funeral.”
There was a sharp sound from Vanessa’s end.
Maybe a hand hitting the dashboard.
Maybe the phone slipping.
Then she whispered, “Dad?”
He looked at me.
I had not seen that expression on his face since I was a teenager and had once backed his truck into the mailbox.
Not rage.
Worse.
Disappointment sharpened into something very deliberate.
“Morning, sweetheart.”
Vanessa inhaled so hard the sound came through the speaker.
“You’re alive.”
“Apparently.”
“Why are you at Natalie’s house?”
Dad pulled out the chair beside me and sat down again.
He reached for his coffee.
“Why are you telling people I’m dead?”
Vanessa recovered faster than I expected.
“We weren’t telling people. I was trying to reach Natalie.”
“You told her Harold found me.”
A pause.
“Dad, listen—”
“And you said you found my papers.”
Another pause.
Grant’s voice appeared faintly in the background.
“Hang up.”
Dad heard it.
“So Grant’s there too.”
Nobody answered.
Dad took a sip of coffee.
“Excellent. Saves time.”
Vanessa’s tone changed.
The grief vanished.
So did the authority.
Now she sounded irritated.
“Dad, there’s been a misunderstanding.”
He gave a low laugh.
“Those usually happen when somebody gets a date wrong or forgets a dinner reservation.”
