“Did you speak with Paulson?” he asked immediately, his eyes scanning my face as I walked in.
“He showed me the waiver,” I said, placing my purse back on the vinyl chair.
“You should sign it, Clara,” Ben said, his voice rising with a strange, urgent energy. “It is my only real shot at beating this.”
He reached into his bedside drawer and pulled out a stapled document on blue-backed paper.
“And while you have the pen out, I need you to look at these joint tax filings for last year.”
I frowned, looking at the heavy legal document he was holding out to me.
“Tax filings? Now, Ben?”
“The construction accounts are still tied to our old joint filings,” he said, clearing his throat. “I need your signature to clear those liabilities so the creditors stop calling the house.”
“Gary told me not to sign any joint financial documents, Ben. He said it could complicate the estate.”
“This is not a transfer of assets, dearest,” Ben said, his voice dropping back into that smooth, persuasive register. “It is just a filing to close out the defunct business.”
He rubbed his left temple again, his eyes fixed on my face with an intensity that made me step back.
“If we do not file this by Friday, the state will place a lien on everything we own, including the house.”
“I will have Gary look at it in the morning,” I said, taking the document and folding it into my bag.
Ben turned his head toward the window, his jaw tight, his shoulder turning away from me.
“You do not trust me anymore,” he whispered to the glass.
“I am trying to protect us, Ben.”
“If you loved me, you would not let a lawyer stand between us while I am lying in this bed.”
I stood by the bed for a long moment, waiting for him to turn back, but he remained still, staring out at the gravel parking lot below.
The drive home was quiet, the squeaking brakes of my Buick LeSabre the only sound in the cool evening air as I turned onto the county road.
