I know that money leaves a trail, and lies always have a return address. I started with the basics. I took him to the DMV to get a new ID—Diane had “lost” his.
Then I opened a bank account in his name, but under my strict control. We moved quietly. A P.O.
box in a neighboring town. A lawyer referral from a shark I knew in the city. But Diane wasn’t stupid.
She sensed the shift in the wind. My phone rang three weeks later. “Sarah,” Diane’s voice was syrupy, dripping with false concern.
“We’re so worried. Is he with you? You know he’s not well.
He gets confused. We need to put him in a facility where he can be… managed.”
“He’s fine, Mother,” I said, staring at my father, who was currently solving the Sunday crossword puzzle with a sharp, focused gaze. “He’s just resting.”
“You’re making a mistake,” her voice dropped an octave.
“You don’t know what he’s like now. He’s dangerous.”
Continue reading…
