Chapter 7: Lakeshore

Anne's mother led me through a quiet hall into a sitting room with a photograph of Anne on every shelf.

She sat down across from me and laid the phone on her knee.

"I have been on that chat for six years," she said. "I never write in it. Lydia likes it that way."

"You read all of it?"

"Every line, including the one on Wednesday."

She looked tired, and she looked older than she had at the dinner.

"Claire, I was ashamed in that room on Friday. I should have stood up. I couldn't."

"Why not?"

"My husband doesn't know me on most days. He lives in a care home now."

She turned the wedding ring on her finger.

"Lydia holds his power of attorney. Until that changes, she runs the trust, and the company, and everyone who lives off either one."

I said nothing, because I didn't understand what that had to do with me.

"I can't help you yet," she said. "I'm telling you so you won't think I chose them."

"What can you do?"

"I can keep Poppy fed and keep her pills on time. And I can tell you the truth every Sunday, if you'll ring me at six."

She wrote a number on the back of my medication sheet and handed it to me.

"Poppy asked me this morning whether you knew where to buy applesauce in Chicago."

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