“But what will I tell Pam?”
“You don’t have to tell her anything. I’ll handle it.”
She reached across the table and covered my hand with hers. Her hands were warm now.
“Your father always said you were the one who’d figure things out,” she said.
Before I left that afternoon, I did two more things.
I called Mr. Ostrander’s office in Harvey and made an appointment for Mom to come in the following week, with me, to review her estate plan and her power of attorney. Dad had signed a durable power of attorney before he died, but Mom never had. If she got sick or confused, nobody would have the legal authority to make decisions for her. And the joint account with Pam wasn’t the same thing. It just meant Pam could write checks.
Then, before I pulled out of the driveway, I texted my brothers.
Mom’s tank is full. Next October, send the propane money to me. I’ll explain at Easter.
Dean called inside a minute. He lives in Fargo and manages a farm equipment dealership.
“Julie? What’s going on? Is Mom okay?”
“Mom’s okay. She’s warm now.”
“What do you mean, now?”
“I’ll tell you everything at Easter, Dean. Face to face. I promise.”
“Is this about Pam?”
I didn’t answer right away.
“Mom’s warm,” I said. “That’s what matters today.”
Rob was out feeding cows on his ranch near Mandan. He called that night, after dark, when he finally came in out of the cold.
“Got your text,” he said in his slow, deep voice. Rob talks like Dad. “Mom all right?”
“She’s all right now, Rob.”
He was quiet for a while. I could hear his TV in the background and his wife Shirley asking who it was.
“Pam?” he asked.
“At Easter. Face to face.”
“Okay.” He was quiet again. “Julie. Thanks for going out there.”
