"Do you understand that both of your children would be able to move money."
"Yes."
"Do you understand that neither would be removed without another document."
"Yes. That's the point. I'm tired of removal as a hobby."
"Do you understand that the house instruction isn't a magic lock. It's a statement of your wish, and if you want it to bite harder you should see a lawyer. I am telling you the limit of my table."
"I understand the limit," he said. "I've been living in limits. Write the wish. We'll let a lawyer put teeth in it if the wish isn't enough. Not today. Today I want the card. I want them to watch me sign it when it's ready. I don't want either of them to hand me the pen. I'll pick it up myself. If my hand shakes, the shake is part of the signature. We already learned that. We don't get to like only the steady one."
Ruth felt the tears then, not as a decision. They were quiet. She did not wipe them fast enough to hide them, and she decided not to make a project of hiding them. Caleb's mouth was pressed tight. He nodded once, the insufficient nod, and then he said, "Yes," which was the word he had not been able to spend on the first Thursday.
"Dad," Ruth said. Her voice held. "I was never going to sell it out from under you. I need you to hear that as a fact and not as a brochure. I talked about numbers because numbers are how I keep from drowning. It landed on you as a train. I'm sorry for the landing. I'm not sorry I came in March. I'm not sorry I pay attention. I will try to pay attention without building you a solution you didn't order."