“Daddy,” she would say, laying papers in front of him, “we just need you to sign these. It’s about Eleanor’s care plan. We found a more affordable facility.”
Arthur never touched the pen.
“Eleanor stays here.”
Vivien’s smile tightened. “She doesn’t even know where she is.”
Arthur’s voice grew cold.
“She knows exactly where she is. She knows more than any of you.”
One afternoon, Vivien turned and saw me standing in the doorway with Eleanor’s tea tray.
“And who is this?”
“Eleanor’s caregiver,” Arthur said. “She’s been here a month already.”
Vivien looked me over slowly, like a cat studying a bird with a broken wing.
“How nice.”
