Now I was discovering that even those feelings had been part of a hidden plan.
“Did you just feel sorry for me?” I asked.
Jake raised his head.
“No. I genuinely grew attached to you. You reminded me of the woman my mother always described, the woman who cared about her every day. But I should never have made you promises of love. That was wrong.”
Then he explained the phone conversation.
That night, he had been speaking with his mother and an attorney. He had told them that I still didn’t know about my children’s plans and that their court petition might be filed within a few days.
And his warning that everyone would have a problem referred to the family argument that had happened shortly before Robert’s death.
Jake believed I might remember something about that night.
And suddenly, I did.
A few weeks before he died, Robert had sat beside my bed and said,