Chapter 11: The Cleanup
Returning to the house on Maple Street felt different now. The ghosts of old arguments still echoed in the hallways, but the oppressive weight had lifted. On Wednesday evening, Richard and Arthur tackled the dining room together. The broken china had long since been cleared away, but the scratched table surface and the patched wall remained as visible reminders of the storm.
Richard set up a sander in the center of the room while Arthur handed him sheets of fine-grit sandpaper. The rhythmic whine of the electric tool filled the house, kicking up a fine cloud of sawdust that settled over the hardwood floor like a light winter snow.
"Are we going to stain the whole table a different color?" Arthur asked, wearing a paper dust mask over his nose and mouth.
"Dark walnut," Richard said, shutting off the sander and wiping sweat from his forehead. "We're going to strip away the old finish completely and start with bare wood. No varnish left from the past. Just something solid and new."
As they worked side by side, the doorbell rang. It wasn't a process server or an angry relative this time. When Richard opened the door, he found Martha standing on the porch, holding a brown paper bag containing homemade cinnamon rolls wrapped in wax paper. She looked tired, her eyes red-rimmed and hesitant.
"Can I come in, Richard?" Martha asked softly, not looking him in the eye. "I didn't come to argue about the lawsuit. Mom is... Mom is furious, and she's refusing to talk to anyone who doesn't agree with her completely. But I can't live like this anymore."
Richard stood in the doorway for a long moment, weighing the risk against the olive branch. He stepped aside, opening the door wider. "Come on in, Martha. Just leave your shoes by the door."
Martha walked into the kitchen, setting the rolls on the counter. She looked around the half-repaired dining room, taking in the sawdust and the sanded table. "Mom is doubling down, Richard. She's talking about liquidating some of the family trust to fund a full trial. She thinks if she starves you out financially, you'll have to crawl back."
"She doesn't have that power anymore, Martha," Richard said gently, pouring her a cup of coffee. "David showed us the ninety-eight codicil. She’s fighting a losing battle, and she's burning bridges with everyone who cares about her."
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Martha took the mug, her hands trembling slightly. "I know. I told her I wouldn't sign her affidavits. That's why she stopped speaking to me yesterday." She looked over at Arthur, who offered a small, polite nod from across the room. "I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, Arthur. I was always too scared of her wrath."
"It's okay, Aunt Martha," Arthur said quietly. "We're not scared anymore."
