I didn’t call Gerald. I want to be clear about that choice. I thought about it. I picked up my phone and put it down probably four times that night. But something about the way the two policies were just sitting there together, one with my name and one with his, made me want more information before I said a single word to him.

I’ve known my brother my whole life and I know how he argues. He fills in spaces. He talks over you until you start believing you misunderstood something. I didn’t want to give him the chance to do that before I knew exactly what I was dealing with.

So I called the insurance company first. That’s when I got the agent, a woman named something like Patricia or maybe Patricia was the one I got transferred to, I honestly can’t remember, it was a long call with a lot of hold music. She confirmed everything. The original policy, the one naming me, had been formally cancelled. The replacement policy had been initiated in person at a branch office. My mother had apparently presented identification, answered security questions, and signed the new application. The change had been authorized. It was, according to them, completely legitimate.

I asked her which branch. She told me. It’s twenty minutes from Gerald’s house. It’s forty-five minutes from my mom’s house. My mom doesn’t drive anymore. Hasn’t driven in over two years.

I went to see Loretta the next afternoon. I didn’t tell her why I was there, just said I was stopping by. She was having a decent day, which is what the aides call it when she knows where she is and can follow a conversation pretty well. We had lunch together, the facility makes this chicken soup she likes, and she told me about a dream she’d had about our dad. She seemed okay.

Settled. I waited until after lunch to ask her about the insurance.

She had no idea what I was talking about. Not in a confused, roundabout way where you could tell she was searching for the memory. Just nothing. I asked if she’d gone anywhere with Gerald recently, to any kind of office or appointment. She thought about it and said Gerald hadn’t visited in a while. She wasn’t sure how long. I pulled out my phone and showed her a signature card I’d photographed from the insurance folder, her signature from an old document I knew was hers, and then I showed her a photo of the signature on the new policy application, which the agent had actually emailed to me when I explained the situation and pushed a little. My mom looked at both of them. She said, and this is close to exact, “that second one doesn’t look like mine.”