Nobody seemed interested in eating immediately.
The ham was still on the counter.
The rolls had risen beneath their towel.
The Twins game continued in the living room, but nobody was watching.
Rob picked up Pam's green notebook again.
He turned to the final page.
Fourteen thousand eight hundred and sixty dollars.
He studied the number for several seconds.
Then he looked at Pam.
"How long have you been paying for all this yourself?"
"Since Dad died."
"Four years?"
She nodded.
"Why didn't we know?"
Pam gave a small shrug.
"You were all busy."
Rob shook his head.
"That's not an answer."
"I know."
He placed the notebook on the table.
Then he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his checkbook.
Rob was old-fashioned about money.
He preferred paper checks and kept the checkbook with him even when he went to town.
He opened it and began writing.
Pam immediately noticed.
"Rob, what are you doing?"
He didn't answer.
He finished writing, removed the check, and placed it beside the notebook.
I could see the amount.
Three thousand seven hundred and fifteen dollars.
"That's my quarter," he said.
Pam stared at it.
"Rob, no."
He looked at her.
"You spent nearly fifteen thousand dollars taking care of Mom. I'm covering a quarter of that."
"I didn't bring the notebook to collect money."
"I know."
"Then don't."
Rob pushed the check toward her.
"This isn't charity, Pam. You're our sister."
She shook her head.
He continued.
"You carried things that should have been shared."
Dean picked up his phone.
"I'll send you my share."
Pam looked at him.
"Dean, please."
He shook his head.
"I don't have a checkbook like Rob. But I can transfer it."
"That's not what I came here for."
"I understand."
Dean looked at the notebook.
"But understanding what happened doesn't mean we leave you with the bill."
He began calculating the amount on his phone.
I remained standing beside the table.
I hadn't moved.
I was thinking about the January night.
The frost.
The five-percent gauge.
The pink delivery ticket.
And the way Pam had sounded on the telephone when she accused me of going behind her back.
I had been angry with her.
I still believed she had made a serious mistake.
But I could no longer pretend she hadn't spent four years helping Mom in ways the rest of us had barely noticed.
Rob stood up.
He walked around the table and stopped beside Pam.
Then he put his arms around her.
I had rarely seen Rob hug anyone.
He wasn't an emotional man.
He showed affection by repairing things, carrying heavy equipment, and showing up when someone needed him.
But that afternoon, he held his older sister tightly.
"I'm sorry, Pammy."
She began crying again.
"I'm sorry we left you to handle all of it."
Pam wrapped her arms around him.
I looked away for a moment.
Then I walked toward them.
I had eleven weeks of anger to put down.
And I knew I couldn't do it by pretending nothing had happened.
"Pam?"
She turned.
Her eyes were red.
"I owe you an apology."
She shook her head.
"You don't."
"I do."
I stood in front of her.
"I should have called you that night."
She looked at me.
I continued.
"I found Mom in the chair. I saw the tank gauge. I found the delivery ticket. And before I knew what had happened, I'd already decided you were responsible for everything."
Pam lowered her eyes.
"I was responsible for the propane money."
"Yes," I said. "But I didn't know the whole story."
I took a breath.
"I was frightened. I didn't want an argument while Mom was sitting in that cold room. But I should have talked to you before making up my mind about you."
Pam watched me.
Then she gave a small nod.
"You were right to get the propane."
"I know."
"You were right to change the account."
I looked at her.
"But I should have spoken to you."
She gave a tired smile.
"You did what Mom needed."
I stepped forward and hugged her.
She held me tightly.
For a moment, I remembered being children in that farmhouse.
Pam had always been the one who helped when I got hurt.
When I fell from the hay wagon, she carried me inside.
When I got stung by a wasp, she sat beside me until I stopped crying.
Her clothes used to smell like hay and laundry soap.
Now they smelled like coffee and the hand sanitizer she used at the clinic.
I held on a little longer.
"Thank you for going out there," she whispered.
I pulled back.
"She's our mother."
Pam nodded.
Then she looked toward the table.
"Can we please make sure this doesn't happen again?"
That was the first thing we all agreed on.
We finally sat down to eat around three.
The ham had dried slightly.
The rolls had fallen.
The potatoes were still warm.
Mom's kuchens were perfect.
Nobody complained.
After dinner, Dean found a legal pad in the kitchen drawer.
Rob brought his checkbook back to the table.
Pam placed the green notebook beside it.
We began working out a plan.
The propane account would remain under my name.
The automatic keep-full system would stay active.
Duane and the cooperative would continue monitoring the tank.
Whenever a delivery was made, the bill would come to me.
I would divide the cost among the four siblings and send everyone the details.
Pam would resume contributing her share when Mark was able to return to work.
Until then, Rob, Dean, and I would cover the difference.
We also agreed to establish a shared bank account for Mom's everyday expenses.
Prescription costs.
Medical appointments.
Hearing-aid batteries.
Groceries.
Repairs.
Anything necessary for her care.
Each of us would contribute one hundred dollars every month.
Pam would manage the account.
She knew Mom's needs better than anyone.
But this time, all four children would receive the monthly statement.
Dean suggested that we organize regular visits.
Rob volunteered to come on the first Sunday of each month.
He would bring groceries and check the property for repairs.
Dean offered the third Sunday.
He would bring his children from Fargo.
He said they needed to spend more time talking with their grandmother instead of looking at their phones.
I volunteered for the second and fourth Sundays.
Steve said he would come whenever his work schedule allowed.
Pam would continue visiting whenever she wanted.
Rob looked at her.
"You don't have to come every Sunday anymore."
Pam gave him a small smile.
"I know."
For the first time, I saw her shoulders relax.
She wouldn't have to be the only person watching the house.
She wouldn't have to remember every appointment.
She wouldn't have to pay every unexpected bill.
We had finally made a plan that belonged to all of us.
Source: kaylestore.net
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: Mom Added One Rule to Our Agreement, and Months Later a Familiar Sewing Machine Returned to the Family in a Way None of Us Expected
I Thought My Mother Was Simply Sleeping Through Another North Dakota Winter, Until I Walked Into Her Living Room and Realized Something Was Terribly Wrong
Part 10 of 12
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