Kristen sat at the petitioner’s table in cream silk and pearls, looking like grief in a magazine. Her lawyer was a smooth man with a leather portfolio. Trevor sat
beside her, thinner than I remembered, his eyes fixed on the table. The deputy had been told to wait outside until the hearing ended, because Howard had asked the judge for an unusual courtesy: let the old woman speak first.
Judge Alvarez, a gray-haired woman with a no-nonsense mouth, looked at me over her glasses. “Mrs. Sutter, you understand this is a petition regarding your capacity?”
“I do, Your Honor.”
“You’re represented?”
“By Howard Pierce, who has been my attorney for thirty-two years. But with the court’s permission, I’d like
to speak for myself.”
“Granted.”
I stood. My ribs still hurt. I did not let it show.
“Your Honor, my daughter-in-law says I’m confused. She says I sold a house in a fit of anger, and that I can’t manage my own affairs. I’m sixty-eight. I built roads and bridges in this state for forty years. Last night, Mr. Pierce had me examined by two independent physicians. Their reports are in the folder before you. I’d also like to submit the closing documents for the sale, which I read line
by line before I signed them.”
