The Signature That Didn’t Belong

“Nobody is stealing anything!” Dave shouted. His voice bounced around the little bathroom. He dragged his hand through his thinning hair. “We’re trying to keep her from hurting herself. She can’t live here by herself anymore, Lily. Her mind is going. She can hardly walk without falling. You think your mother wants this? It’s breaking her heart to see Gran like this.”

“Gran isn’t sick, Uncle Dave,” I said.

He stared at me. “What?”

“She isn’t losing her mind.” My fingers found the edge of the wicker wastebasket beside the toilet. I had pushed the empty amber bottle under the tissues the night before. I brought it out and held it between us. “Mom is making her sick.”

Dave’s mouth stayed open, but no words came. His eyes fixed on the little bottle in my hand.

“Gran takes a white pill for her shaking,” I said quickly. My words bumped into one another. “Mom’s been taking the pills out of Gran’s box. She puts these blue ones in Gran’s tea. I saw her do it today. That’s why Gran gets mixed up. That’s why she can’t write properly.”

“Let me see,” Dave murmured.

He took the bottle. His thumb rolled it around while he read the pharmacy label. I watched his eyes follow the lines.

Sarah Vance. The name sat there in black letters. Below it, the warning said the medicine could cause heavy sleepiness, confusion, and trouble coordinating movements.

Dave’s face turned a color like old paper. He glanced toward the bedroom, then beyond it, toward Gran in the living room. He looked as if he could see her sitting there, too drowsy to move.

“She said…” His voice broke off. “She told me Mom was getting worse. She said Dr. Aris had found dementia. She said she was trying to handle it.”

“Mom made that up.” I looked at the hallway. The Power of Attorney wasn’t in my pocket. I had hidden it in the hollow place inside my textbook, where it had to stay until I could show someone safe. “The folder’s in my book. I hid it there. The one with the loose pages.”

Dave kept hold of the bottle. He looked at me for a second, then hurried out of the bathroom. I heard his footsteps cross the hall. A moment later, he came back with my textbook and eased the papers out of its hollow center.

“Look at the signature on the last page,” I said. “Look at the G.”

Dave opened the packet. His hands shook as he turned to the back. He studied the smooth, rounded letter. Gran’s real G had a little hitch in it, the way her hand paused when the tremor caught her. This one looked too neat, like Mom had copied the shape carefully.

“She forged the note for school yesterday,” I told him. “The one saying I could leave with her. Mrs. Higgins said the rules meant I had to agree, or my custodial parent had to say it herself. Mom used the note to make it seem like I wanted to go.”

I pointed to the papers. “And this Power of Attorney isn’t Gran’s writing. Mom put down a deposit for The Pines. She said the place needed it by noon. She owes forty thousand dollars to the credit-card company. She wants to sell Gran’s house to fix her money problem.”

Dave lifted his eyes from the page. They looked wet and startled. His face had changed in a way I couldn’t name at first. He had thought he was helping make a hard choice for a sick person. He had thought Gran needed care somewhere else.

He had wanted the money too, but he had believed Mom’s story about Gran. Now he had the bottle and the papers in his hands. I watched him understand that he hadn’t been protecting his mother. He had helped Sarah plan to take her away.

“Oh, God,” he whispered. The orange bottle bent slightly in his fist. “Sarah. What have you done?”

A deep mechanical rumble rolled up through the floorboards. The garage door was opening. Dave and I both jumped.

It was 8:15 in the morning. Mom wasn’t supposed to come back until noon.

I knew why she had returned. She must have gone to work, opened her black leather bag to get ready for her meeting, and found the Power of Attorney missing. Without it, she had nothing to make her plan look official.

The side entrance from the kitchen slammed. “Dave!” Mom yelled. Her voice sounded sharp and ragged. “Where is she? Where’s Lily?”

“Dave!” she shouted again.

Her fast steps rattled along the hall. When she reached us, her gray jacket hung open and strands of hair had slipped free from their clip. Her tote hit the kitchen floor with a heavy thump. Something slid and clattered across the tiles—her laptop, I guessed. Her eyes swept the hallway and landed on Uncle Dave, who had moved in front of me.

“Give it to me,” she said. Her hand was out, trembling. “Dave. Give me the folder. Right now.”

He didn’t step toward her. He stood on the wooden floor, staring at his sister as if she had become someone he didn’t know. The Power of Attorney packet rested in one hand. His other hand held the crushed orange prescription bottle.

“What is this, Sarah?” he asked. He wasn’t yelling. His voice sounded scraped and unsteady.

“It’s Mom’s paperwork,” she snapped. She stepped closer. “She’s sick, Dave. You know she’s sick. I’m trying to finish the transfer so we don’t lose the deposit at The Pines. They need it by noon. Hand it over before you wreck everything.”

“You told me Dr. Aris changed her medicine,” Dave said. He lifted the bottle a little. “This has your name on it.”

“I’m trying to help her,” Mom said. Her eyes flicked toward the folder. “You know how difficult this has been. The Pines is ready for her. We can’t keep changing the plan.”

Dave’s fingers tightened on the papers. Behind him, I held still, watching Mom’s face. She didn’t look worried about Gran. She looked worried about the folder.

“Give me the Power of Attorney, Dave,” Sarah demanded. He stood there holding it in one hand and the sedative bottle in the other.