600 Hours of Edward

early 1980s. He invested heavily in tech throughout the 1990s, and then he shifted his holdings before the bubble burst in 2001. He bought a lot of Google stock in the initial public offering and has seen that investment grow. My father, it seems, was as good a businessman as he was a politician.
    Jay L. Lamb explains that, because my mother is my father’s direct survivor, the bulk of the holdings will go to her. “The money, the stocks, the house, the cars,” he says.
    “I have my Mercedes,” my mother says. “I don’t need that Cadillac, too.”
    “You own it, free and clear,” Jay says.
    “But I don’t need it. Edward, would you like to have your father’s Cadillac?”
    “Well, my Toyota Camry did get hit by a careless driver outside Rimrock Mall.”
    “It’s settled, then. The Cadillac is yours.”
    “If that’s how you want to do it,” Jay L. Lamb says.
    “That’s how I want to do it,” my mother replies.
    “OK, let’s talk about Edward,” Jay L. Lamb says. “When Ted bought the house on Clark Avenue, it was in his name and yours, Maureen. The house passes along to you. Ted’s will makes it clear that we’re now to have you and Edward sign a quit-claim deed listing Edward as a co-owner.”
    “What’s a quit-claim deed?” I ask.
    “It essentially says that when your mother dies, the house goes solely to you.”
    “So it’s my house now?”
    “Yours and your mother’s, yes.”
    “It means, Edward,” my mother says, “that you can stay in that house for as long as you like.”
    Jay L. Lamb also explains that my father has set up an annuity for me, with enough money behind it to ensure that my living expenses are taken care of for the rest of my life. My bills will continue to go to Jay L. Lamb’s office, and he will administer my annuity and pay my expenses.
    “You’ll need to budget, of course,” Jay L. Lamb says. “But you have plenty in reserve should you occasionally go over.”
    “How much in reserve?” I ask.
    “Five million dollars.”
    Jay L. Lamb then explains what happens to the money after my mother dies—that some will go to me, some will go to taxes, and that some should probably go to charity while my mother isstill alive so that the tax burden is reduced, but I’m not listening all that closely. Five million dollars is more money than I would ever need, I think.
    – • –
    After Jay L. Lamb has finished going over money matters, he asks if I have any questions.
    “Yes,” I say. “My mother says I can stay in the house on Clark Avenue for as long as I want. Does that mean that the memorandum of understanding is over?”
    “What’s this?” my mother asks.
    “I…I think…” Jay L. Lamb is stuttering, and I’ve never seen him do that before.
    “Last week, the day before Father died, he made me sign a promise that I would not spend time with Donna Middleton ever again, or I would have to move out of the house on Clark Avenue and find a way to pay my own bills,” I say.
    “Who is Donna Middleton?” My mother is sitting forward in her chair.
    “She’s my friend. She lives on my block.”
    “You made a friend on your block, Edward? That’s wonderful.”
    “Yes. If I can stay in the house as long as I want, no matter what, I want to keep being friends with Donna Middleton. That’s why I’m wondering about the memorandum of understanding.”
    “Jay,” my mother says, “what is this memo?”
    Jay L. Lamb reaches into one of his desk drawers and pulls out a green office folder, just like the ones I use to store my letters of complaint. He thumbs through it, picks out a sheet of paper, and hands it across the desk to my mother.
    My mother reads the piece of paper. A couple of times, her mouth drops open. Finally, she turns to me.
    “Your father made you sign this?”
    “Yes.”
    “Jay,” she says, turning away from me and toward Jay L. Lamb, “what is this all about? Why would Ted make Edward sign a document like this? Even if Ted had a problem with Edward’s knowing this woman—and for the life of me, I can’t imagine why—what business is it of yours?”
    “Jay sends me lots of letters,” I say.
    “This isn’t the only one?”
    “No.”
    “Jay,” she says, “you better let me see those letters, right now.”
    – • –
    By the time my mother works her way through the file with my name on it, she is quaking with anger. She reads letters informing me that I have spent too much money, letters summoning me to meetings at