A Field Guide to Burying Your Parents

by Liza Palmer

  “I have to ask then, why did you maintain separate residences?”

  “We didn’t, really. Ray bought me the town house early in our marriage. We were having a few difficulties early on. Adjustments. He bought the town house for me then,” Connie answers.

  “And since then?”

  “Like I said, idyllic. That short time apart showed us how deep our love was for each other. It brought home how much we needed and loved each other every day from then on,” Connie says. The entire courtroom sighs. The four of us are steely. I can see the back of John’s head from here. He is unmoving. Solid. He told us to remain neutral. It’s making the hardest thing I’m ever going to have to do that much harder.

  “This must be very hard for you. Take your time,” her attorney says.

  “No, please. I have to do right by Ray. He would do the same for me. He was always so strong,” Connie says.

  “I realize this is a difficult question and I’m sorry to keep pressing it, but after your short separation, why did you two keep the town house?” the attorney asks.

  “Ray said that it was a good investment and sometimes Dennis, my son, would stay there when we celebrated the holidays or when he would come up on long weekends together. Ray and I loved having people visit from out of town, and the town house worked really well as accommodations for all of our guests,” Connie oozes. The four of us haven’t moved. Neutral. Neutral.

  “Mrs. Hawkes,” the attorney starts.

  “Connie, please,” she demurs.

  “Connie, will you let me know if you have to take a break. I know this is upsetting and tiring for you,” the attorney says again.

  “No, no… as I said, I’ve got to be strong for Ray. No one else here cares about him or what he wanted,” Connie says. Breathe. Breathe.

  “I realize this is difficult, but I need to ask you some hard questions, so bear with me, and again if we need a recess so you can rest, just let me know.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Ray’s children have told the court that you and Ray separated six months after you got married and haven’t lived under the same roof since,” the attorney says, in a voice that betrays how ridiculous he finds this notion.

  Connie breaks down. “That’s just not true… we were everything to each other. It’s just not true… I don’t know why they would tell such lies.”

  “Well, that’s why we’re here,” the attorney soothes. The entire courtroom turns around and looks at us. I look straight forward.

  “That was the only dark cloud over our marriage. Ray just wanted those kids to love him, to be a part of his life again. So badly… so badly that he’d do anything,” Connie says, her eyes welling with tears.

  “Anything indeed,” the attorney agrees.

  “And finally, the hardest question of all, after all those years of love and tenderness and togetherness, why didn’t Ray choose to leave you anything in his will?” the attorney asks gently.

  Connie convulses and lets her head fall into her hands. She raises a single finger, asking for the court to give her a second to collect herself. The clerk hands her a tissue. She dabs at her tears and finally raises her head to speak.

  “I’ve thought and thought about this since my Ray passed. And I have to think that they somehow played on his guilt to the point of… he… he must have been seeing them. They must have come up here. Maybe when I was visiting Dennis in Oxnard, as I often do. Ray knew I didn’t approve of those kids, they were horrible to him, already put one parent in the grave and now they were working on the other. And there was nothing Ray could do. That woman brought them up hating him, and now all they know is to hate and manipulate. But, they must have found out… that one… that oldest one is a lawyer, not the kid that’s a criminal, but that one who’s a lawyer probably did a search… and found out that Ray’s poor mother had died. And sure enough, that’s when they started rubbing their hands together and figuring out how they were going to break my poor Ray’s heart and get him to leave all his money to them out of some misplaced sense of guilt and shame. They… they must have started working on him right after his mother died. Pounced on him right away. He… he never had a chance.” Connie crumbles into a fit of tears.

  “Your Honor, no more questions, but I’d like to take a break before Mrs. Hawkes has to endure a cross-examination. And at her age…” the attorney asks.

  “Of course. We’ll reconvene in fifteen minutes for cross,” the judge announces, slamming the gavel down.

  The attorney goes up, takes Connie’s hand, and helps her down from the stand. Dennis leaps up from the front row bench, swoops in, and both of them help the poor woman outside for a drink of water. The entire courtroom empties.

  “This is going really well,” I say, my face now a lovely color of puce.

  “You have to stay with me here,” John says, leaning on the railing between us and the witness stand.

  “She’s gone completely O.J. She totally believes her shit.” Leo’s eyes are glazed over and he’s staring at the witness stand.

  “She’s been well coached,” John says. “But I’m pleased.”

  “What?!” we all sputter in unison, all except Huston, who sits stony-faced.

  “They’ve given us the perfect setup. Seriously. It couldn’t have gone better,” John says, straightening up, stretching.

  “Well, it’s our only shot,” Huston sighs. John nods. “So, you’ll do cross—do you have those documents?” he asks, cracking his now scarred knuckles.

  “I’ve got them here. I plan on using them during cross,” John says.

  We are silent. All four of us.

  “But everybody bought it,” Abigail says, her voice low and scared.

  “Sure, she’s a little old lady who’s saying the big bad wolf, or four big bad wolves, blew her house down. But that’s about to change. You need to trust me. And if you can’t do that… trust your dad. He did everything he could to make sure that you were taken care of,” John presses, in full lawyer mode.

  “Except divorce her,” Leo whispers.

  “You know, he was a religious guy—so, okay, he didn’t divorce her, but he went to exhaustive lengths to make sure every last penny he had found its way to you.”

  “Thanks, John. It’s just been a rough couple of weeks,” Huston apologizes, patting John on the arm.

  “You’re almost there… This is where things start not adding up and her histrionics will do nothing but make her look like a greedy, tantrumming two-year-old,” John says, getting more and more passionate.

  “We really appreciate all you’ve done,” Abigail offers.

  “No worries, really,” John says, shooting a quick glance at me. I get embarrassed and check my watch. We have a little less than five minutes.

  “And we go up after your cross?” I ask, fidgeting with the wristband.

  “Actually, no. Connie’s attorney said he was only calling Huston, who I’ll then question. Then I’ll put Ray’s attorney on the stand to paint a picture of Ray’s state of mind when he drew up this estate plan in the first place.”

  “Got it,” I answer.

  “Okay, this is very important. I need you to not react when this cross-examination is going on, as well. The judge will be watching your reactions, to see if you’re getting off on this, anger, rage—what have you. So, I know it’s Herculean, but just try to look neutral,” John advises.

  “I think shutting down emotionally will not be a big leap for this family,” I say. Even Huston cracks a smile. John gives me a quick wink.

  People start trickling back into the courtroom. No one looks straight at us. There are side glances and shaming stares, but no one ever stops and really takes us in. Takes in the pain and grief. People see what they want to.

  “I’d better get up there,” John announces, and he pushes through the bar, not looking back.

  The door to the courtroom swings open once more and Connie and Dennis make their way down the center aisle. As the crowd looks reverently
at her, I can see their glances sneak over to us, turn to judgment, and soften as they return to the feeble old lady who just wants to preserve the memory of her late husband.

  Dennis leads Connie back through the swinging gate and back up to the witness stand. The crowd settles in.

  The bailiff stands as the clerk walks hurriedly to her desk and sits down.

  “All rise,” the bailiff announces.

  We all stand.

  “The Honorable Paul Kohl presiding,” the clerk announces. The judge enters and sits.

  “Please be seated. Counsel?”

  “John Moss on behalf of the Hawkes children.”

  “We’ll go ahead with cross. Mrs. Hawkes, you’re still under oath.”

  “Yes,” Connie agrees. Once again, I’m expecting flames. Just engulfing flames. Maybe some smiting. A good old-fashioned smiting would be nice.

  “Please begin,” the judge says.

  “Thank you, Your Honor. Mrs. Hawkes, if you will—please let me know if you ever need a moment or a short recess. If this all gets too emotional.” John waits.

  “Yes… I’m fine,” Connie says, nodding her head. Her eyes steely.

  “So, I just want to backtrack over a few of the questions your attorney asked earlier, is that okay?” John asks, his voice soft, like he’s just sitting in a parlor somewhere with his grandmother.

  “Yes, that’s fine,” Connie answers, on full alert.

  “It won’t take that long, I promise,” John says, smiling.

  “I’m fine.”

  “You stated earlier that Ray bought you the town house on Daly Street when you were having some minor difficulties in your marriage early on, is that correct?” John asks.

  “Yes,” Connie answers. Clear. Concise. Well rehearsed. Just answer the question, don’t volunteer anything.

  “But after the rough patch was over, you moved back into the house that was left to Ray by his mother,” John says, reading from a legal pad. He looks up, awaiting an answer.

  “Yes, that’s right.”

  “So, from 2005 on, you lived full-time in the house left to Ray by his mother and used the Daly Street town house mostly as guest accommodations for either your son or out-of-town guests?” John asks.

  “Yes, that’s right,” Connie answers again. She shifts in her chair—getting comfortable. She’s not uneasy at all. So calm. She’s so calm.

  “So why are all of the utility bills for the Daly Street town house in your name only?” John asks, producing a stack of bills. “Exhibit One, Your Honor,” John announces, handing them to the clerk.

  “We just never changed them back, I suppose. Ray kept all the books and paid all the bills,” Connie answers.

  “Okay, but what about your Medicare bills, dental bills, and your phone bill? Why were those sent to the Daly Street address?” John presses. He produces another stack of mail. “Exhibits Two through Five, Your Honor.” Once again, he hands the stack to the clerk.

  “The town house is just down the street, so rather than going through the hassle of changing everything, we just kept it the same. Ray didn’t mind,” Connie explains, her voice coquettish.

  “Moving on to the house Ray’s mother left him, Mrs. Hawkes—you said here earlier that you’ve lived in that house continuously since roughly 2005?” John asks, heading back over to his files.

  “Yes.”

  “So, where are your clothes, Mrs. Noonan? Your personal effects? Your furniture? Your Honor, Exhibit Six is date-stamped pictures of the closets in the nine twenty-four Dean Street house showing that the only clothes in the closets were those of Ray Hawkes,” John finishes, handing the pictures we took on that final cleanup day to the clerk to mark and pass along to the judge. The judge flips through the pictures and looks down at Connie. Waiting.

  “Well, they obviously staged these pictures. Pulled all of my clothes out and took the picture of an empty closet,” Connie explains, never raising her voice.

  “And the personal effects?”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand,” Connie says, recrossing her legs.

  “Pictures of the two of you together, flower vases, your family heirlooms,” John rattles off.

  “Ray let me express my creative design sense in the Daly Street town house. He didn’t like any of that woman stuff,” Connie explains, sneaking a small smile. Several women in the crowd titter at Connie’s assessment of men’s quirky decorating tastes. She’s as bad as one of those Cathy comic strips. Next thing she’ll be proclaiming is that she has “catitude.”

  “Earlier when you testified, you said that Ray had bought you the town house on Daly Street when you were having some minor difficulties in your marriage. Isn’t it true that you’ve been separated from Ray Hawkes since April 9, 2005?” John asks.

  “No, we were the center of each other’s universe,” Connie protests, her eyes welling up. With fury, I knew, but would the judge ever figure it out?

  “Do you need a moment, Mrs. Noonan?” John’s voice is easy, his whole body soft and concerned.

  “No, I’m fine,” Connie says, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

  “Well, isn’t it also true that Ray Hawkes had divorce papers drawn up on April 9, 2005, which he signed? Let the record show that I’m entering these signed divorce papers in evidence as Exhibit Seven.” John hands a copy of the divorce papers to Connie and the original to the clerk.

  “Like I said, we had a rough patch in the beginning. As you can see, they were never filed. We worked through our problems and came out loving each other even more,” Connie says, not even touching the divorce papers.

  “Earlier you testified that Ray gave everything to his kids in the will because they blackmailed him emotionally and unduly influenced him to leave everything to them,” John starts.

  “Yes.”

  “So, did Ray’s kids blackmail him into setting up college funds for his grandchildren: Evelyn, Mateo, and Emilygrae, and any grandchildren that might come later?” John asks, heading back to counsel table his for exhibits.

  “What?” Connie blurts.

  “A trust in each of Ray’s grandchildren’s names to be used for a college education. Exhibits Eight through Ten, Your Honor,” John says, handing the documents to the clerk, who in turn hands them to the judge. This time Connie picks up one of the documents and scans the text.

  “They must have. That Abigail is the worst, always trotting out those little Mexican kids. She should be ashamed of herself,” Connie says, tossing the documents back down onto the banister of the witness stand. Abigail curls her fingers under the court bench.

  “And do you think Ray’s kids blackmailed him into making each of them beneficiaries under this one-million-dollar Metropolitan Life Insurance policy that he purchased just after your separation?” John asks, handing a copy of the document to Connie along with one to the clerk. “Exhibit Eleven, Your Honor.”

  “There are four kids. They were raised on hate by that woman. They got to him. My poor Ray never had a chance!” Connie breaks down.

  “Ms. Noonan, do you need a minute? We can take a quick recess for you to collect yourself.”

  “No, I’m fine,” Connie assures, once again.

  “Your Honor, at this time, I’d like to enter in Exhibits Twelve through Twenty-one, which show that Ray left several other insurance policies and bank accounts solely to his children,” John says, passing the exhibits to the clerk, then on to the judge.

  “Mrs. Noonan?” the judge asks.

  “They got to him—each one of them,” Connie repeats.

  “You testified earlier that Ray bought you the town house on Daly Street during the troubles you were having in your marriage. Your Honor, I’d like to enter the deed for the Daly Street town house as Exhibit Twenty-two into evidence. Why didn’t Ray ever put you on title to the property in the years since he gave it to you?” John asks, putting a copy of the deed in front of Connie.

  “He said it was some kind of tax thing. I trusted him,” Con
nie answers.

  “You testified earlier that you have lived in the nine twenty-four Dean Street house with Ray Hawkes throughout your marriage. Your Honor, I’d like to enter into evidence the deed for the residence located at nine twenty-four Dean Street, Ojai, as Exhibit Twenty-three into evidence. Why didn’t Ray put you on title to this house either? The house where the two of you lived as husband and wife?” John asks, setting a copy of that deed in front of Connie as well. The clerk passes along a copy to the judge.

  “He said it was a tax thing too. Ray minded the books. I trusted him,” Connie answers.

  “Well, okay, then why didn’t he give you his power of attorney instead of Huston Hawkes, his eldest son from his first marriage? Your Honor, I’d like to enter the power of attorney and the durable power of attorney for health care as Exhibit Twenty-four and Twenty-five in evidence,” John says.

  “Well, that oldest one’s a lawyer and the littlest one is a criminal. Those kids had him wrapped around their little finger. He would have done anything,” Connie explains.

  “So, all these things. Insurance policy after insurance policy. Bank account after bank account. College funds for the grandchildren. Deed after deed. Powers of attorney. Last will and testament. All of these documents done at different times, over a period of years, it is your testimony that he did these things because his own children bamboozled him, blackmailed him. But why do you think he did all this? What was he trying to do?” John asks.

  “I don’t know, I guess they got to him.” Connie says.

  “So, over a course of years, your husband basically gave away your home, your homes, I mean, your money, your future, everything, everything you built together, to a bunch of kids he left twenty-two years ago?” asks John.

  “Objection, Your Honor, asked and answered,” Connie’s attorney interrupts.