Chapter 5 - A Stand in the Dark
"Don't touch it," I said.
My voice wasn't loud, but it carried an edge so sharp that Clara stopped dead in her tracks, her hand hovering six inches above the frayed linen.
"Excuse me?" she hissed.
"I said don't touch it," I repeated, stepping around David until I stood directly between Clara and the table. I picked up the pillow and tucked it under my arm, hugging it close against my heart. "This was the last thing your mother handed me before she died. She gave it to me. It's mine."
Julian laughed, a harsh, humorless bark. "It's a pile of bird feathers and drool, Mabel! Why are you acting like it's the Holy Grail? Is there something in there?"
My heart skipped a beat, but I kept my face entirely blank. "She gave it to me because I was the one who put it under her head every night for twelve years while her own children couldn't be bothered to drive forty miles to visit her on Mother's Day."
"That's enough!" David interjected, stepping between all of us, his palms raised. "It's midnight! Our mother is lying in a mortuary freezer, and you're all fighting over a damn pillow and funeral bills! Clara, Julian, go to the guest rooms or go to a hotel. We'll deal with the inventory tomorrow."
Clara glared at me, her eyes narrow and suspicious. She looked at my apron pocket—which hung slightly lower on the right side from the weight of the gold—then looked back at the pillow in my arms.
"Something isn't right here," she murmured softly. "Mom was acting strange all winter. She kept asking for that lawyer from town—the one who died two years ago."
My blood ran cold.
"She was senile, Clara," Julian said, tugging at his sister's coat sleeve. "Come on, let's get a drink. It smells like old medicine in here anyway."
Clara allowed herself to be pulled toward the hallway, but she kept her glare fixed on me until the door closed behind them.
Once they were gone, the kitchen fell back into a heavy silence. David sank into a chair, putting his head in his hands.
"I'm sorry, Mabel," he rasped, his voice muffled by his palms. "I know how hard you worked. I know what they are. I'm just... I'm so tired."
I looked at my husband. He was a good man, but he was weak when it came to his family. He had spent his life trying to keep the peace between a demanding mother and arrogant siblings, fading into the background while I bore the physical weight of Fiona’s care.
May you like
I reached into my apron pocket, pulled out the hand-written note from Fiona, and laid it quietly on the table in front of him.
"Read this, David," I said gently.
