Carmen Morales is a twenty-nine-year-old transwoman who works for an insurance broker in Orange County while attending law school at night. She is summoned back to the Kern County home she was kicked out of twelve years before, by the Grandmother – “Abuela” – who refused to intervene. Her father has had a stroke and is in a coma. She spends several days there and determines that he has no health insurance, and Abuela convinces her to apply to be his temporary conservator.

After she files the application, Carmen goes back to Orange County and to work, but on Friday she receives a call from Andar Kasparian, the attorney the court appointed to investigate the conservator application. She arranges to meet with him at the hospital Monday morning, since he is required by law to attempt to interview both the conservatee and the proposed conservator. She returns to Buttonwillow and spends the weekend continuing to reconnect with family. However, she and Abuela gate-crash a gathering of three of her fathers’ brothers and their wives. Her senior Aunt, Maria, does not approve of Carmen’s gender change, and wants to block her appointment as conservator.

Chapter 18: The Investigator

No amount of sleep could have done more to restore me than my night of dancing had done, but I still cursed when my phone chirped me awake the next morning. I wanted to cling to my pillow, but I knew that I would need to take extra care with my appearance for my meeting with the lawyer.

I’d given a lot of thought to what I should wear when I packed for the trip on Friday. I’d been tempted to go with the safest bet – a full-on formal skirt suit that I’d gotten for important meetings with clients. But it was navy blue as well as being severe, and might look out-of-place in the kind of heat Bakersfield packs in June. So instead I went with an ensemble that was suitable for work, but not court – a cream-colored skirt that hit at the knee, with a white linen jacket over a boat-necked sleeveless satin top in aquamarine. Subdued make-up and my hair pulled back into a bun.

Even with all of the extra care I’d taken getting dressed, I’d left myself plenty of time. I stopped at the hospital cafe for a coffee and a bagel to settle my nerves, and arrived on padre’s floor a full half hour before Mr. Kasparian was due to arrive.

The nurse at the desk waved me over when I stepped out of the elevator. “It’s Ms. Morales, right?”

“Yes?”

“Doctor Chatterji asked me to tell you that we’ve got a small conference room you can use to meet with the investigator this morning, and she can join you there at around 10:30 if that works for you.”

I brightened; the idea of doing the interview in padre’s hospital room hadn’t really appealed to me. “Thank you; that would be great. I think Mr. Kasparian has to actually put eyes on padre first, though.”

“Oh yes, that’s the drill,” she agreed. Clearly not her first rodeo.

“Any change in his condition?”

“Sorry, Hon. Nothing new to report. They just finished his morning check and clean-up, so he’s ready for you.”

“Thanks.” I was just about to go when a thought occurred to me. “Could you do me a favor? Let me know when Mr. Kasparian arrives; I’ll come down and bring him in.”

The nurse smiled. “You’ll be talking to your padre again?”

I nodded sheepishly. “I know, it’s silly. But . . . yeah.”

“It’s okay, Hon. I’d talk to him, too, if it was my dad. Don’t you worry none.”

I went down the hall and, sure enough, he looked the same as he had every time I’d been to see him. No change.

“Good morning, padre,” I announced, then sat in my usual chair by his bed.

As usual, he made no response. Just the slow, Darth Vader-ish noise coming from the breathing machine.

“Got a guy coming in today, from the court. We want to have someone appointed to get your insurance and stuff worked out. Abuela asked me to do it, and I would, just to start. Just to get the paperwork all done.”

No response.

“So . . . this guy who’s coming in is supposed to see whether you need a conservator. I’ll look pretty stupid if you decide to jump up and tell him to get lost. But – just so we’re clear – I’d still be real happy. Feel free, you know?”

I stretched the kinks out of my back and continued. “Aunt Maria thinks your brother Angel should be your conservator. I doubt anyone else does . . . probably including Uncle Angel. But honor must be satisfied, right?” I snorted. “If you all didn’t look so much alike, I’d never guess you were brothers.”

The rhythm of his breathing was strangely peaceful, seemingly divorced from all of the silly squabbles the family was having.

I decided he didn’t need to hear any more about it. We let ourselves get tied up in such a tangle! “I went dancing last night – me and Ximo and Innie. Ximo’s pretty good; he surprised me. You remember señor Cortez, the history teacher? He sure remembered you. Anyway, he was there, playing Spanish guitar. It was something.”

Not a flicker of recognition.

“It’s funny, how when I’m dancing, nothing else matters. After I moved in with Katie and Lourdes, they kind of took me on as a project. Like, get me out of my shell, have me learn to function as a woman. And they’d take me places – you know. Shopping, or dinner. Bars. God, bars were the worst! I’d never done that scene as a guy, and I was so nervous, trying to present as myself. You know, as Carmen.”

I smiled at the memory. “Then one night, they took me to a club. They were like, all worried – well, Lourdes was, anyway, ’cuz she gets how self-conscious I can be; Katie’s not really into worrying.”

“Oooooh! Juicy one coming up on your six, Carmen!” She grinned, then gave my arm a little slap. “No, no! Don’t turn around, silly! Let him make his play!”

“Katie! I don’t know what to –”

“Relax, girl, you’ll be fine. Just get him dancing!”

“How do I–”

She grinned. “Smile. Move your feet. You know, that sort of thing!”

Gentle pressure on my shoulder, followed by a voice pitched to carry over the band. “Hey! Want to dance?”

Katie almost giggled.

I turned around, trying to make myself smile through my panic. “Uh . . . sure?”

The guy grabbed my hand and led me toward the dance floor. I looked back, terrified, only to see Katie laughing and making shoo-ing motions with her hands.

But then we were at the dance floor. Not knowing what else to do, I surrendered to the music.

I shook my head at the memory, still amazed at how something so simple could be so transformative.

“Well,” I said, trying to put an almost mystical experience into words, “That was it. After that night, I was obsessed. I took dance classes through the community college where I was getting cheap degree credits at night. I got involved with a local dance club. Every time the girls wanted to go out, my question was always the same – will there be dancing? Once I got my BA and started law school, I had to dial it way back, ’cuz I had no time, you know? But I still tried to squeeze it in.”

I looked at the figure in the bed, trying to imagine him as a younger man. “Did you dance, padre? When you were in college? Somehow, I can’t imagine it could ever be the same, for a man. Like, Ximo was good, you know? But it was all moves. And señor Cortez – for him, it was art. It’s not like that for me. It’s like liberation. Breaking out of prison, and finally feeling the sun on my face.”

I heard footsteps approaching and went silent. The nurse poked her head in. “He’s here, Hon.”

“Great, thanks.” I rose. “Showtime, padre. Get your game face on.”

I recognized him from his firm’s website. A bit under six feet tall. Trim, well-built, with blue-black hair, dark eyes and sharp features. I felt good about my wardrobe choices, since he had opted for a light brown jacket over darker brown pants, and an open-collared dress shirt without a tie.

Here goes. I stepped forward and offered my hand. “Mr. Kasparian? I’m Carmen Morales.”

His handshake was firm and professional, without the nonsense dominance games some men put into the exchange when they are dealing with other men. “Ms. Morales.”

“Let me bring you back to padre’s room.”

“Of course. Lead on.”

When we entered, I said, “Padre, here’s the gentleman I told you about.”

Mr. Kasparian’s eyebrow rose, but he said nothing.

“There’s a chance – maybe more of a hope, I guess – that he might actually be hearing the things that are happening around him. I understand that it does happen, sometimes, though Dr. Chatterji thinks it’s pretty unlikely in padre’s case.”

“I see,” he said, looking thoughtful. “Have you noticed any response, any of the times you’ve spoken to him?”

I shook my head. “I’m afraid not. He’s looked exactly the same each time I’ve been here.”

“And how many times is that?”

“Five? Six? I was up last weekend and stayed until Tuesday, and I came up again Saturday. I think I’ve been here every day I’ve been up, except maybe one.”

He nodded, then stepped closer to the bed and said, “Mr. Morales, my name is Andar Kasparian. I work at the law firm of Flanders and Soto in Bakersfield. Your daughter has applied to be your temporary conservator, and the court appointed me to investigate.”

He stopped speaking, gave padre a close look, then sighed. “I will report to the court that Mr. Morales’ condition prevented me from conducting an interview.”

“Anything else here?” I asked.

“No. But I will need to speak to his primary doctor before I finalize my report and recommendations.”

“Dr. Chatterji indicated that she should be available to meet with you at 10:30, if that works,” I offered.

He smiled briefly. “I see you have things under control. That would be fine.”

We returned to the nurse’s station, and she took us down a corridor. The walls were glass panels, with rooms on the other side where doctors could do their office work, participating in the vast paperwork factory that powers American healthcare. But one room held a table with six chairs around it, and the nurse left us to it.

Once we were seated, he opened the leather portfolio he’d been carrying and turned on the tablet that it held. After opening an app, he propped it up for better reading – his, not mine!

“All right,” he said, once he was settled. “Let me give you a quick overview of how this process works, and my role in it.”

“Okay.”

“The Court will hold a hearing – which it’s decided to expedite – to determine whether your father needs a conservator and whether you should be appointed on a temporary basis, for a period of either 30 or 60 days. My job is to prepare a report to help the Court make that determination. I’m required to file it by the date of the hearing if possible, and by no later than two days after the hearing if it isn’t. I need to interview you, the doctor, and the people closest to your father – usually, that’s spouse, children, parents, siblings, and sometimes close friends. With me so far?”

I nodded; it was all information I’d read in publicly available materials. To move things along, I said, “The Judicial Council’s Handbook for Conservators laid all that out pretty well. What it didn’t really spell out was the criteria that you use to evaluate the need for a conservator or the suitability of a proposed conservator.”

Kasparian had a nice smile. “If you’re familiar with the handbook, that will definitely save us some time. Let me deal with the easy question first. We assess whether a temporary conservatorship is needed based on capacity and urgency, and you covered both in your application. Since your father is completely incapacitated, the key question is the need to make urgent decisions. So far, it doesn’t sound like there have been many actual healthcare decisions to make, but insurance is critical. Is that right?”

“Yes. Padre is uninsured. So my plan is to apply as quickly as possible for the County Health Care Access program and Medi-Cal. I know I’ll need to have a complete inventory of his income, assets and liabilities to complete those forms. Also, I need to see whether he is eligible for Workers’ Comp and disability.”

He nodded approvingly. “Yes, exactly. So, I think the ‘urgency’ component is clearly met in this case. Assuming nothing surprising comes from my discussion with the doctor, I can’t see why the Court wouldn’t appoint a temporary conservator.”

I nodded, unsurprised. “Which brings us to, who should do it.”

“Correct. So, the first issue is whether someone with priority should be appointed instead of the applicant.”

“Priority?”

“The code gives preference in the appointment to a spouse, then to children, then to parents, then to siblings, in that order. So, you have priority over your grandmother, and she has priority over your uncles, but your father’s wife, if he’s married, would have priority over any children.”

“He is – technically. But my mother abandoned him over twenty years ago.” Nothing’s wrong . . . Just be good to your brother . . . . “They never divorced, but no one knows where she went, or where she is. Or even if she’s still alive.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice sympathetic.

I shrugged uncomfortably. “It was a long time ago.”

It was obviously a painful subject, so he moved on. “You are the oldest child?”

I nodded. “Yes; the oldest of three. My brother Joaquim lives in padre’s house in Buttonwillow. When my mother left, she took our youngest brother with her, so we don’t know where Domingo is, either.”

He made a note on his tablet with a stylus, then asked, “why not have Joaquim appointed? He lives with your father, and he’s right here. You’re a four-hour drive away.”

I was hard-pressed not to smile when I recalled Ximo’s words from just the prior evening. I don’t want to deal with no courts, or cops, or government. Sure’s fuck, I don’t want to deal with the witch. Diplomatically, I said, “I think he felt less comfortable about his ability to take care of the insurance issues quickly.”

“There’s no rule against you providing him with assistance,” he observed.

This time I did smile. “I pointed that out to him. He’d still rather I do it.”

He smiled in return. “I understand— I have a brother like that, too.”

“Probably doesn’t help that you’re a lawyer — everyone figures you know how to do all this stuff.”

That got a chuckle. “Too right! Well . . . it sounds like there’s no-one with a claim of priority, so let’s talk about your suitability. There are a couple issues that the court will want to look at, and you’ve already addressed one of them – you seem to have a good grasp on the things that need to be done. You know you’ll also need to take control of his assets, especially his accounts, and make sure his bills are being paid, right?”

“Yeah. I doubt he has much, honestly; the real problem will be figuring out where it is. It seems like he did his banking and bill pay online.”

“Right. You’ll also be responsible for decisions about health care. Are you prepared to do that?”

“Yes . . . though, so far it’s really been just a matter of keeping him stable.” I took a deep breath and said, “One matter I’ve specifically decided I would defer, if it came up.”

He understood immediately. “It’s good you’ve thought about that . . . I know it’s a hard question for loved ones to have to even consider. But end-of-life decisions would need to be referred to the court in any event. So would a decision to sell your father’s home. You could also voluntarily seek the court’s guidance on other important issues at any time. I hope that helps.”

“It does — and thank you for understanding. I didn’t want you to think I was shirking any duties, but that’s not a decision I’m comfortable making.”

“I assume your father hasn’t left any standing instructions on medical care? No living will, no DNR order?”

“No. Nothing like that.”

“Okay. So, the next thing the Court will want to look at is whether you’ll have the time and the ability to do the things you’d need to do for the temporary conservatorship. Given that you’re living in Orange County, that will definitely complicate things – but it’s not like you are out of state or anything.”

We discussed the nuts and bolts of getting access to padre’s finances and accounts. He had a great deal of helpful information on the subject, and by the time we were done I felt far more confident that my available leave time from work would be adequate for the task.

“Alright,” he said. “That seems to cover your relevant knowledge and whether you’ve got the bandwidth to do the job. The final thing the court will need to consider is any potential conflicts of interest. Can you think of any way — any at all — you could use your position as conservator to benefit your own financial interests?”

I shook my head firmly. “No. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think padre’s got much by way of assets. When I was going through his papers, I found an indication that he’d refinanced his mortgage a couple years ago. As long as the real estate market stays up, he’s probably got some equity — but I doubt it’s a lot.”

“Do you and your father have any personal conflicts that might interfere with your ability to act in his best interests?” He asked the question like it was pro forma . . . but he was watching me intently.

Something in my brain clicked. Oh, you clever bastard! Fortunately, I’d never had any intention of lying. “My father and I haven’t spoken in twelve years, and we didn’t part on good terms,” I said crisply. “But you already know all that, don’t you Mr. Kasparian?”

He kept his face expressionless. “I try to do my homework before conducting these interviews . . . Ms. Morales.”

“Well, let me give you a bit of information you probably don’t know.” I could practically hear Innie telling me to shut up, but . . . nope! The truth, the whole truth, and nothing but. “My father doesn’t have a living will, but he does have the more traditional variety. I have no idea if it’s valid or not, but he signed it about a year after I left, and it specifically disinherits me.”

“I see.” He made a notation on his tablet.

“I assume you’re aware that I’m trans?”

He nodded. “Of course. That was the reason for your estrangement from your father?”

“More or less. Let’s just say that the possibility that I might be was more than enough for him.”

“You must have been angry,” he probed.

“Naturally.”

My complete lack of evasion seemed to flummox him. Finally he just cut to the chase. “In light of all that, how can you serve as a conservator, even on a temporary basis? How can you act in his best interest?”

“I wouldn’t have agreed to do the job if I wasn’t sure I could do it right. As for why I agreed . . . it’s mostly because my grandmother asked me to do it. But also . . . .” I paused, then stopped. “No. Let’s just leave it at that. My grandmother asked me to.”

“That doesn’t seem like a very compelling reason. Not by itself. What were you going to add?”

“It’s not important.”

“Ms. Morales . . . .” He closed his tablet and set it down. “Please understand. I’m not the judge. I don’t have any agenda, except to present the court with the facts it needs to make an informed decision. I’m not your enemy.”

Color me skeptical. “An adversary, then?”

“Not even that. I’m required to be completely neutral. I’m pressing you for a more complete answer on this question, because I think it’s the one thing in your application that any judge is likely to worry about. I want the judge to have the best information.”

“Maybe . . . but you wanted to see whether I would lie, just now, rather than telling me what you already knew. One of the adjuncts for my legal writing class – the kind of guy who loved to tell war stories – called those sorts of tactics ‘stupid lawyer tricks.’ I’m not a fan.”

“Honesty is probably the most important quality for any kind of fiduciary – especially a conservator,” he countered. “Unfortunately, it’s a difficult quality to assess. It’s easier to identify dishonesty.”

“I can see that,” I allowed. “I’m still not a fan.”

He inclined his head. “I apologize, Ms. Morales.”

Well . . . I’ll give him points – a couple, anyway – for not adding weasel words to that apology. “In that case, and for whatever it’s worth . . . I’d like to have the opportunity to speak to padre again. To maybe get past what drove us apart. I want him to live, to recover, and to return to his home. And I think I’m in a position to help.”

“Forgive me, but . . . wouldn’t that be the same home he threw you out of?”

“Yes. Same home. Mr. Kasparian, twelve years is a long time. I’m done with being angry.” We can’t repair the past. We can only transcend it. “For all his flaws – and for all of mine – I’d just like to have my father back. Maybe now, after all these years, we can do better.”

He was silent for a long moment, weighing my words. Finally he said, “Thank you. That is helpful.”

“So, I get good marks for honesty?”

He blushed. “Again, I apologize. But yes, you’ve been very forthcoming. Now . . . there is one more item in your application that was unusual. In cases of complete incapacity, we generally don’t see applications for a temporary conservatorship filed separately from an application for an indefinite conservatorship. What’s your plan when the temporary period is done?”

It was a bit of a relief to return to practical considerations. “We’re going to need to discuss that as a family. I’m hoping we’ll have a bit more clarity in a couple of weeks as to what padre’s near- and mid- term prognosis will be, and that should give us a better idea of who is best suited to fill the conservator role over the long term.”

He leaned back. “It sounds like you don’t think you’ll be the right choice for that?”

“That’s right. Assuming he’s conscious, we’ll want someone who can be with him more regularly, and I’m not going to be able to do that. Also, it would be better to have someone who has been closer to padre these last few years. Someone who knows his current likes and dislikes better.”

“Right. Okay, I see where you’re coming from.” He paused and made some notes on his tablet. Then he chewed the end of the stylus, and added, “Still, I think you shouldn’t wait too long to make the application. The Court expedited this hearing because of the need to get your father’s insurance squared away, but it’ll take weeks to get a regular hearing on the calendar for the long-term conservator application.”

“Oh.” Ooops! Hadn’t thought of that! “Okay, I’ll pass that information on to Abuela after we’re done.”

“Your grandmother? She’s on my list of people I need to interview.”

“Yes. She is still, very much, the head of the family.”

“The head of the family? I know the type, then – which actually makes me surprised she wasn’t the one applying to be the temporary conservator.”

“She’s blind, which complicates matters, though as far as I can tell she’s more than capable of doing the job. But she asked me to do it.”

“Because . . . ?”

“She told me she thought I had more relevant background. As you know from my application, I work for an insurance broker, so padre’s insurance issues are things I deal with frequently. We’ve also got someone in our office who specializes in state insurance programs, and I can tap her expertise.”

He gave me a quizzical look. “That was an interesting way to phrase your answer.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I asked you why she wanted you to do it, and you said, ‘well, here’s what she told me.’ It’s like you don’t think that’s actually why she asked you.”

“Oh. Well . . . I wouldn’t read too much into that.”

“No?”

“No. It’s probably just me being cautious. I know the reason Abuela gave me. But as for why she’s actually doing something?” I shook my head. “The only person who could tell you that is Abuela.”

“And she’ll only do that if it suits her?”

“You do know the type.”

He smiled. “I look forward to speaking with her, then. Does the rest of your family support your appointment?”

“You’re going to interview them, right?”

“Relations in the first and second degree – in your padre’s case, unless I’m missing someone, that will be your brother, your grandmother, and your uncles.”

I smiled. “Since you will speak with them directly, I won’t try to put words in their mouths.”

“Just doing my homework, Ms. Morales.”

“I think you will find mixed views,” I said neutrally. “But I may be wrong about that.”

“Alright.” His smile was a bit rueful. “Are you aware of anyone else I should talk to? Any close friends of your father’s? Any, ah . . . romantic partners?”

Romantic partners? I shook my head. “No . . . but, I’m not the best person to ask that, since I’ve been away. Joaquim may know of someone, or perhaps one of the uncles.”

There was a light knock on the door behind me, and Dr. Chatterji poked her head in. “Carmen, I’m only free for a couple of minutes. Is this a good time?”

I looked at my interrogator. “Are we finished?”

He rose and extended a hand. “We’ve covered everything I hoped to get to. If I have additional questions, I’ll call you. And, of course, you’ll receive a copy of the confidential report I submit to the Court.”

I shook his hand and left, leaving Dr. Chatterji to Kasparian’s inquisition. I returned to padre’s room, intending to make a couple of telephone calls, but found that Abuela was there already.

Gaby was with her, and this time, her expression radiated hostility. “You!”

“Good morning,” I said cooly, before dismissing her from my mind. “Abuela, the investigator is speaking with Dr. Chatterji right now. I know you’re on his list to interview – should I find out if he’s got time when he’s done?”

“Yes. Fine.”

“I’ll be right back.” I trotted down to the nurse’s station and asked her to tell Mr. Kasparian that Abuela was available if he wanted to do his interview with her this morning. But when I turned to go back to the room, Gaby was almost on me.

She was in quite a mood. “Get tea, Gaby! Get food! Yeah, whatever. You two want to hatch plots – fine!”

“There are usually two sides to any story,” I said, trying to be diplomatic.

“I know what side I’m on, thank you,” she snipped. Then she stormed off, muttering “tranny bitch” just loud enough to be heard.

“Carmen?”

I turned back to the nurse, my face flaming. Damn Gaby for putting our pinche laundry out for everyone to gawk at! “Yes?”

“It’s okay, Hon. Don’t you listen to folks like that, you hear?”

I relaxed. “Thank you! I try not to let it bother me.”

“The old woman who’s back in the room – that’s your grandma, right?”

“Yes.”

“That nasty young thing shouldn’t mess with her.” She shivered theatrically. “That’s one scary lady!”

I smiled. “Gaby’s a slow learner. She’ll get there.”

“Go on now. I’ll flag down that handsome Armenian man when he’s done with the doctor.”

I thanked her again and returned to Abuela. “Gaby’s in a tizzy.”

“She usually is.” She shrugged, as if to say, ‘it is what it is.’ “Will this ‘investigator’ be helpful?”

“I don’t know. He’s clever – maybe too clever. I was honest with him, about padre kicking me out, and the whole trans issue. No telling what the court does with all that.”

“Should I be honest, then?” She sounded amused.

“Yes. Absolutely.”

She smiled thinly. “I’ll think about it.”

“He’ll be interviewing Ximo and the tio’s, too,” I said by way of warning.

“You are worried about Angel?”

“I expect he’ll oppose it.”

She chuckled without humor. “We’ll see. He’s in the kennel, so perhaps he will behave.”

For the second time that morning, something in my brain clicked. “You planned all that yesterday!”

“Planned what?” she countered. “To drop in on Angel and Maria?”

“Not just that – you wanted Aunt Maria to blow up at you.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” She waved a hand, dismissing the question. “It was useful, anyway.”

“You knew how Uncle Augui and Tio Javi would react!”

“They are good sons,” she said, as if that answered everything. I suppose, in a way, it did.

“And me?” I challenged. “Did I play my role, too?”

“Do you feel used?” She turned her face toward me, and her expression was hard to read. “Try being blind sometime.”

She worked so hard to disguise her infirmity that I was thrown off-balance. “What?”

“I can’t even leave my house without help.” She said it matter-of-factly, without bitterness. “I’ve adapted.”

I shook my head. I am playing so far out of my league, I’m not even sure I’ve got the right game!

The nurse poked her head in the room. “Mr. Kasparian said he’s available. Do you want to go back to the conference room?”

Before I could respond, Abuela said, “If he wants to interview me, he can do it here. After all, Carmen thinks Juan may be able to hear us. I’m sure he’ll appreciate my ‘honesty.’”

I rose. “I’ll leave you to him, Abuela. Somehow, I think the two of you will get along just fine.”

~o~O~o~

The only thing remaining on my punch list for the trip was to check with the Sheriff’s Department and find out if my handgun was going to be held for evidence. Unfortunately, Officer Braddock – my contact, and the one who had taken the Ruger – wasn’t in, and no-one else seemed to be able to answer my question. So I headed south, returning home empty-handed, so to speak.

I plunged back into work and even managed to log some extra hours; Dwayne had gotten approval for me to earn a little comp time, which might come in handy later. On Wednesday, I got a notice from the Probate Court setting a date for the hearing on my conservatorship petition for the following Friday – July 5.

I spoke with Dwayne, and he approved my taking that Friday off. Since the office would be closed for the Independence Day holiday, I would have a four-day weekend to take care of family business.

Knowing that I would be up for the long weekend, I was able to spend the last weekend in June at home with Katie and Lourdes. Finally! We got in a trip to the beach, I did laundry, caught up on some much-needed sleep, and still managed a half-day of comp time on Saturday. I received updates from the hospital every day, but there was no change in padre’s condition.

I was meeting with a client on Tuesday the 2nd when I received a call from Mr. Kasparian. I let it go to voicemail, but he didn’t leave a message. Instead, a few minutes later, he sent a text asking me to call him back. It was the better part of an hour before I could return his call.

I was expecting to get the receptionist for Flanders and Soto, but he’d given me his cell phone number and he picked up right away. “Ms. Morales – thank you for calling back so quickly.”

“Of course. Is there a problem with the hearing?”

“There might be,” he replied. He sounded . . . flustered? Surprised? It was hard to tell. “I arranged to interview your Uncle Fernando this morning out at Taft Correctional.”

I reacted with a bit of impatience. Who cares what Uncle Fernando thinks? “I expect he’s not in favor of my appointment. Is that a problem?”

“No, no. It’s not that. I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but . . . he has contact information for your mother.”

My mind went blank, and I shouted, “He WHAT???”

— To be continued

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