Chapter One: The Worst Thing That Can Happen
Dillon Everette woke at dawn to a morning that was warm for November 13, the birthday of his late wife, Doris. Snow had fallen a few days before, but he’d monitored the weather reports and surmised that the next several days would be mild and clear. Three days earlier, he’d contracted for a virtual mailbox service and modified the addresses of his online credit card statements. Before finalizing plans for the trip, he had checked with all of his service providers to make sure they knew he’d be leaving the area for a while. He had also spoken with his financial advisor about payments and unexpected bills that he might not be able to manage from a remote location.
Although it hadn’t been that long since he’d upgraded his iPhone, he purchased a new phone from AT&T that contained two SIM cards, added a second number, and made sure that no one but his financial advisor could track either number. He’d prepaid the registration for his MG for the next two years and was also paid up for his driver’s license until 2031.
He then packed two small suitcases with a mixture of clothes for several climates and a smaller case for his iPad Pro tablet. He had changed the passwords for all of his accounts and provided them in letter form to his advisor. Since he couldn’t determine whether or not he’d be returning home, he’d contracted with a property management firm to make sure that his house would be well-maintained while he was gone, providing for services such as snowplowing, grass cutting, hedge trimming, and having the swimming pool, opened, serviced and closed. He also made sure that oil deliveries would be made on a regular basis. Other service suppliers could contact him on the new phone line if and when necessary.
Dillon recently had a complete physical, and besides having a slightly elevated cholesterol count,,above normal blood pressure, and a bit of osteoarthritis, had been given a good bill of health for a man of 82. His GP had no real concerns about Dillon’s memory lapses, which primarily manifested themselves when he was asked to recall proper names. He had passed a simple memory test, was sound enough to complete The New York Times crossword puzzle, and had even begun work on a memoir of his life and career.
Doris had passed away in April, after having been diagnosed two and a half years earlier with pancreatic cancer after noticing that her complexion had yellowed, her urine had darkened, and that she had some abdominal pain. Her doctor sent her for tests, which confirmed the diagnosis, and treatments followed.
Dillon and Doris knew that the outcome wasn’t likely to be positive and they prepared their children for the worst, while asking for help as a backup if Dillon, for any reason, was indisposed or couldn’t provide the care necessary as her caregiver. The couple had been married for more than fifty years and decided to stay put in their home in Radnor, Pennsylvania, where they had raised the children and would continue to enjoy the life they’d had together for as long as possible.
Doris underwent surgery, which left her feeling weaker, but neither she nor Dillon made a big deal about the inconvenience, pain and struggle to just get up in the morning. They believed that they could and should face the problem together without burdening their children any more than was absolutely necessary. The children were, of course, concerned, but Dillon assured them that he would ask for help when he needed it, and for them to otherwise go about their lives as usual, and not spend much time discussing their mother’s illness with each other.
As time went by, and Doris’s condition worsened, it became harder to hide the symptoms from the family, but Doris and Dillon were well enough off to hire professionals to assist them, and to provide relief for Dillon during some of the most stressful times when he wasn’t physically capable of lifting Doris or maneuvering her into the bathroom, tub or shower.
Doris chose palliative care rather than endure further treatments and procedures, and towards the end she opted for in-home hospice care. Dillon maintained constant contact with the children during this period, but neither he nor Doris wanted the children wringing their hands and begging for ways to assist them.
Dillon made sure that the house was maintained as Doris had always done, with fresh flowers in view throughout the house, and their conversations with visitors focused on the positive sides of life, such as the grandchildren’s activities and the business and social lives of their own grown children.
The evenings were the most difficult parts of every the day for Dillon, as he awoke often to check on Doris and worried about how life would be for him without her by his side.
Doris was an easy patient. She endured the fatigue, the loss of appetite, the vomiting and weakness, and always attempted to comfort her husband with a smile or a phrase such as, “It will be alright, my love,” or “The pain is tolerable as long as you’re here with me.”
Dillon wasn’t a religious man, but during this period he prayed each night for the strength to be as stoic and heroic as his wife. At one point, he was referred to a psychiatrist who prescribed a low dose of Xanax for his anxieties, but beyond that, Dillon knew that losing Doris would be a loss that he’d have great difficulty enduring. He found comfort in praying to an unknown God, which was better than listening to words from a therapist who only repeated back the thoughts he’d already formed in his head as he faced an outcome he’d always hoped would never come.
Doris was the strong one of their team of two. As a man, he had always presumed that he’d be the first to die, and had been comforted by that likelihood.
As they both aged, Dillon even imagined his wife’s new life without him: the taking turns by the children and grandchildren visiting Doris at home, and the possibility of her moving to a retirement community. She was still, at eighty, an attractive woman, and she’d no doubt be surrounded by compatible male suitors. He had grown comfortable with that eventuality early in his retirement, and more recently found peace in the thought that she’d find happiness with someone other than him after he passed.
Until the very end, they shared their marriage bed. At times, Doris’s pain was too great, so the hospice care nurse would recommend that he move to the guest room. But more often than not, he’d return to their bed when Doris was calm and hold her hand until he fell asleep, and awaken periodically to make sure she that was breathing.
On the final evening of her life, her breathing was shallow, and when he
woke in the morning and took her hand, it was cold. He kissed her on the lips and then busied himself with arranging the bedclothes and positioning her on her pillow as if she was resting.
He then contacted the children: first Kate, the stronger of the girls; then Molly, who broke into tears before he even mentioned her mother’s death; and then Jack, the oldest, and the most forceful voice of the three.
“Do you want me to take care of things from here?” asked Jack, gently, concerning the funeral arrangements.
“No, I’ll make the necessary calls. I’ve already spoken to the girls and they’re coming over soon.”
“June and I will be right over. Do you need anything, Dad?”
“What I need, I can’t have... ” answered Dillon.
“I understand. See you soon.”
Dillon remained seated on the bed next to Doris’s body and spoke to her at length. He pleaded with a God he didn’t have much belief in for the strength to go on without her, while also thanking Him for allowing Dillon one last night with her on Earth.
Surprisingly, Dillon was quite composed when the children arrived. He let Jack call the funeral parlor, since he and Doris had previously discussed what the next steps would be. He had several burial plots adjoining a mausoleum in Westminster Cemetery. It was a gothic structure built at the turn of the century that came with perpetual care paid for from funds invested by Dillon’s great-grandfather. Dillon’s mother, father and Great Aunt Marjorie were the last to be placed inside it, but he discovered from the funeral director, as he was he given the “key,” that there were 13 double plots awaiting future generations of descendants adjacent to the fully-packed structure.
Doris was comfortable with joining his ancestors and the other spouses, and often joked that if he’d go first, she’d get to be “on top,” her favorite sexual position.
Their wills were simply drawn: When the first died, the other would receive everything both owned together. After the other passed, the house and the remainder of what was left would be divided equally amongst the three children.
No considerations or concessions were made for remarriages. Their two lives were one, and each of them was confident in the other’s belief that, despite any future relationships, their bequest should be upheld.
Doris’s body was removed from the house before noon, and each of the children chose his or her own way to help their father through the processes.
A graveside funeral was planned for four days after Doris’s passing. A memorial service would follow at a later date but, for the moment, the services were to be private, and just for family members.
The burial plot was dug just a few feet from the formal building. Flowers lined the path, and few words were spoken besides some generic prayers recited by the chaplain. The family left the burial site before the coffin was lowered into the grave, and the limousine, occupied by Dillon and his son and wife, guided the train of cars to a luncheon at the General Warren Inn in Malvern.
Talk at the table was anything but maudlin, as each child had his or her own favorite story to share about their mother, as did the six grandchildren who ranged in ages from 16 to 24.
“The house always smelled of Nana’s cooking,” said Jack’s son David. “Even after she no longer cooked, the house held years of family dinners in the air.”
“As Mom got older, the dinners just kept growing in size with each new birth, spouse or partner,” said Kate. “I think she got sick just to let us know she couldn’t feed another mouth.”
Kate’s daughter Nell told how she loved to spend the night at Nana’s while growing up. “I’d wait at Nana and Pop-Pop’s door until I heard Nana stir, and then come in wearing the strangest outfit I could find, along with one of the Halloween masks stored in a chest in Mom’s old room. Then I’d stand and wait for Nana to open her eyes and look horrified... Then we’d laugh together. Pop-Pop joined in on a few of the games, but he’d mess up and then leave us alone to plan our day together.”Molly’s daughter, Brie, spoke about the pancakes Nana made. “They were as thin as paper, and shaped like animals, cartoon characters or mythical creatures. We’d eat them as fast as she made them, and sometimes she added sugar eyes.”
The memories kept pouring out as Dillon listened from his seat at the head of a long table decorated with flowers from friends and relatives. As he looked down the two rows of family members, the only one missing was Doris. There were moments when he teared up, but then smiled and laughed along with the rest of them. There were some sad stories about Doris towards the end of the meal, but they also contained moments of sweetness and humor that Doris was able to bring to any conversation.
Kate was the first to bring up her mother’s feisty side. “Remember, ‘Mom was always right...’ about everything!”
“No argument there,” said Molly. “And God help the child that crossed her at the table!” shouted Kate.
“You got away with murder, Jack,” said Late, “You seemed to know when Mom was about to blow her stack, and you’d excuse yourself from the table, and only return when Mom settled
“That was usually me,” answered Dillon, who had remained silent until then. “Jack would stand behind your mother and make faces at me as I was being reamed out for stepping into the conversation trying to save one of you kids from her wrath.”
And so the luncheon served as a place in which to share Doris among those closest to her in life.
Dillon was proud of his family, and was glad they were there to help him in this time of grief.
Months later, however, the dynamics changed as the children’s concerns for their father became obsessive. It most likely stemmed from their awareness that when their father was gone, the family would be on its own.
The mania began with nightly phone calls that often woke Dillon up. “Just wanted to make sure you’re okay, Dad. I haven’t heard from you since Thursday, and wondered if you needed anything.”
Just your mother, Dillon thought, but then answered, “No, I’m fine. I had dinner with the Randolphs earlier, and I’m going for a lunch on Friday with Elliott Bart. Haven’t seen him in awhile.”
“That’s great, Dad! Always there to help if I can,” said Molly.
“Appreciate that, dear. Have a good night!”
They’re a good family, Dillon thought, but they didn’t seem to understand the limits of their care. “When I need you, I’ll call you,” he’d try to say to Jack. But then they’d press him into yet another family dinner, at which time he’d have to explain his whereabout and ease their concerns for his safety.
In one voice, they recommended a move to a senior living community while he was busy writing the memoir of his family and trying to deal with the loss of his best friend.
“It’s time for you to relax, Dad. You’ve had a successful business, and you should enjoy your life.”
Without my wife, that’s a struggle, thought Dillon. But I can honor her memory.
And then one night when he was leaving Kate’s house, Dillon accidentally backed into both driver’s side doors of her Lexus, parked behind him in the driveway. His car, which featured automatic obstacle recognition, didn’t stop as it was supposed to. It was a moonless night, and he couldn’t see the black car behind him in the mirror or on the video screen on the console. He returned to the table and announced to the family what he’d done.
“I backed into Kate’s car and creased two doors.”
Dillon then got his wallet from his pocket and handed Kate his insurance card.
“I’m so sorry, Kate. I just didn’t see your car behind me, and my car didn’t stop when I put it in reverse, and it hit your car. I’ll get that checked out, but for now, just pass the info on to your insurance company.”
Everyone rushed from the table to the driveway. Dillon’s car was still running and it didn’t have a scratch on it, but Kate’s front and rear doors were creased, although they opened and closed without any issues.
“My insurance will take care of it,” said Dillon. “I haven’t had a fender bender in nearly 20 years.”
“No, it is a problem,” said Dillon. “My car’s fine and the insurance company will take care of yours immediately, I’m certain.”
At that point, Jack stepped in. “How much have you had to drink tonight, Dad?”
“Not nearly enough, apparently,” answered Dillon, jokingly.
“This isn’t something to kid about. You’re lucky it only happened here and not on the highway.”
“This wouldn’t have happened if Kate’s car had been on the highway,” said Dillon. “It happened because it’s dark outside and Kate parked behind me.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” Jack answered. “You just have to be more careful.”
“I guess I do.”
“Yes, you do!” responded Jack.
Dillon left the gathering and went home, wondering about the accident and concerned with Jack’s response to it. In recent years he’d curtailed his drinking and had only two glasses of wine at dinner. He wasn’t drunk, and he wasn’t mentally diminished, but when he got home he tested his car by backing it up to a trash can which it didn’t seem to see, and he crashed into it.
I’ll have the sensors checked out this week at the dealership, he thought. He then thought of calling Jack about the issue, but changed his mind. I don’t need to explain my actions to my son.
Meanwhile, Jack had gathered his siblings together to talk about the incident. “He’s 82 years old and lives alone. I really think he should move to a place where he doesn’t have to drive. He’s got enough money to take an Uber if he wants to go somewhere.”
Kate objected to the interference, but Molly was somewhat in agreement with their brother.
“Dad seems normal enough to me,” interjected Kate. “I think he’s fine where he is right now, and we’re all in the area to check on him if, and when, he needs us.”
That settled matters until a week later when Dillon locked himself out of the house and couldn’t find the spare key that was always left under a stone near the front door. Jack, at the time, was the only one of the children who had a duplicate key, so after Dillon called him, his son brought his key over and let his father in.
“I haven’t needed the spare for years,” said Dillon.
“You probably needed it recently, and just forgot to put it back.”
Dillon didn’t protest, but later discovered that the cleaning people had let themselves in with the spare key and forgot to replace it. Dillon then bought extra keys for his other two. children, but Jack wouldn’t let go of his intention to interfere in his father’s life.
And then the situation came to a head when Dillon had forgotten his iPhone and was headed to Barry’s Car Barn in Intercourse, Lancaster County, about 50 miles from his home. He wasn’t familiar with the roads in that area and tried to use the directions on the back of the brochure to find his way to the Car Barn, which he accomplished successfully. The museum held nearly 200 cars, most of them models from the 1960s and 1970s. When he’d reminisced enough and completed his self-guided tour, he attempted to retrace his route home, but got lost while trying to find Route 30. He stopped at a diner and asked for directions, but he still wasn’t clear about his way back.
He’d planned to meet Kate at 4:00 p.m. to go through some of Doris’s clothing to donate to Goodwill, so he stopped at a gas station and asked if he could use their phone to make a call to his daughter, to whom he explained, “Everything out here looks the same... cornfields and barns and more cornfields. I’m just trying to get to Lancaster Pike. From what I can gather, I’m about 40 minutes away.”
Eventually Dillon found Route 30 and headed home. He arrived at Kates’s only 15 minutes later than expected, and Kate tossed the episode off as not being a problem. But then she asked her father why he didn’t have his iPhone. “I left it in the pocket of another jacket before I headed out,” said Dillon. “By the time I realized I didn’t have it, I decided not to turn back because I had the directions on the brochure.”
“You could have used the GPS in your car,” said Kate.
“I‘ve never learned to work it. It’s too confusing for me, and the one on my phone works fine.”
Dillon’s answer threw Kate off, and she now began to suspect that Jack might be right about their father’s mental state. She discussed it with Molly, and soon all three children feared for their father’s safety.
Jack was appointed as the person to speak to their father. He called Dillon and asked if he could stop over.
“Sure, son. But I don’t want to hear any more about going to some old age home.”
“Kate told me about you getting lost in Lancaster.”
“Yeah! It’s confusing as hell out there.”
“Don’t you think it might be time to think about giving up driving?”
“Why?” asked Dillon.
“Well, you had a fender bender, lost your keys and now this. We’d hate to see you wander around lost in a place where we can’t find you.”
“Come on, Jack. Leave me alone. I love to drive. Since I no longer have my business, and my best friend’s gone, it’s my only real pleasure. It keeps me active and feeling alive.
“And, remember, I didn’t lose my key; the cleaning people did that.”
Unfortunately, this third apparent lapse of judgment by Dillon was enough for Jack to contact his sisters, and begin a serious campaign to control their father’s life... for his own good.
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