Chương 10
“Yours had no contingencies and a faster closing.”
Grant stared at her.
“You turned down twenty thousand dollars because you wanted the money faster?”
“It wasn’t only that.”
“What else?”
She looked at me.
“I didn’t want Bell involved.”
There was more in that answer.
I heard it immediately.
“So this wasn’t about selling the cabin.”
“It was about being done with it.”
“Done with what?”
Mom’s shoulders sagged.
“With your father.”
The words sounded cruel until I saw her face.
Then they sounded exhausted.
She stared past me toward the dark street.
“Every time something connected to him came up, somebody wanted a story.”
Her voice had softened.
“The insurance company wanted forms.”
“The bank wanted death certificates.”
“His friends wanted tools.”
“Your aunt wanted photographs.”
“You wanted the cabin.”
“Grant wanted the investments.”
“Bell wanted to talk about what David had intended.”
She looked down.
“I wanted one room in my life where he wasn’t still dying.”
Grant’s face tightened.
“He’d already died.”
“I know.”
“No, I mean that’s what you keep saying without saying it.”
He stepped closer to the porch.
“You kept acting like handling his stuff was the same as losing him again.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“Maybe it was.”
Grant looked away.
I stood beside my car with my hand resting on the roof.
Part of me wanted to stay.
Part of me wanted to demand every missing fact until there were none left.
But grief had already been turned into paperwork in that house for years.
I did not want another hour of it.
“I’m going to call Bell tomorrow.”
Mom nodded.
“I figured.”
“If there’s something else you haven’t told me, now would be a good time.”
She looked at me.
“There isn’t.”
Grant snorted.
Mom glared at him.
“What?”
“Statistically, I’m not confident.”
“Grant.”
“I’m serious.”
I almost smiled.
Mom did not.
Lydia stepped closer to me.
“You want company at the cabin?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
“Text me when you get there.”
Grant opened his SUV.
Then he paused.
“Actually, text me too.”
I looked at him.
“You?”
“Yes, me.”
“Why?”
“Because if you slide into a ditch, I’d rather know before Mom calls me at six in the morning hysterical.”
Mom folded her arms.
“I would not be hysterical.”
Grant raised his eyebrows.
She gave him a look.
“Fine.”
I got into my car.
The engine turned over on the first try.
As I backed down the driveway, I saw all three of them in the mirror.
Mom stood beneath the porch light.
Grant beside his SUV.
Lydia with her hands in her coat pockets.
For years, I had pictured leaving that house as escape.
That night it felt less clean.
The road north was nearly empty.
Thanksgiving traffic had thinned, and most businesses were dark except for gas stations and the occasional pharmacy.
I stopped once for coffee at a convenience store outside Millbrook.
The clerk wore a paper turkey hat and looked miserable.
“Long shift?” I asked.
“Started at noon.”
“That should be illegal.”
He shrugged.
“Double pay.”
“Then I support freedom.”
He almost smiled.
I bought coffee I did not need and a packet of peanut butter crackers I never opened.
The familiarity of driving toward Lake Heron settled something in me.
The turns came without thought.
Past the closed garden center.
Across the narrow bridge.
Through the small town where Dad used to insist on buying bait from a shop that had been demolished eight years ago.
My phone buzzed twice in the cup holder.
Grant.
You alive?
I typed at a red light.
Unfortunately.
His reply came immediately.
Good.
Then another message.
Found something weird in Dad’s letter.
I stared at the screen until the light changed.
I pulled into an empty bank parking lot before answering.
What?
Three dots appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
He finally sent a photo.
It was the bottom portion of his second page.
Dad’s handwriting filled most of the image.
Ask Bell about the easement before anybody sells anything.
I enlarged the photo.
My coffee suddenly tasted metallic.
What easement?
Grant replied.
No clue.
Thought maybe you knew.
I didn’t.
I called him.
He answered on the first ring.
“You saw it?”
“Yes.”
“There’s nothing else about it.”
“Read the lines before.”
Paper rustled.
“He says, ‘The shoreline paperwork still isn’t clean, and I don’t trust the county map after what happened with Morrison.’”
“Morrison?”
“Means nothing to me.”
“Keep going.”
“That’s basically it.”
I heard a car door slam on his end.
“Where are you?”
“Gas station.”
“You went home?”
“Almost.”
“Send me a picture of the whole page.”
“Done.”
The photo arrived.
I scanned the letter.
Dad had mentioned an old access agreement involving the western edge of the property.
Nothing detailed.
Just enough to make the word Bell had used earlier feel more important.
Review.
“What if Bell wasn’t trying to buy the cabin for himself?” I said.
Grant was quiet.
“What do you mean?”
“What if he wanted time to figure out a title issue?”
“Then why make an offer?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe because lawyers enjoy making normal things complicated.”
“That is possible.”
Grant sighed.
“Call him tomorrow.”
“Okay.”
Neither of us hung up.
Finally he said, “Owen?”
“Yeah?”
“Dad’s letter says he knew I was gambling.”
I said nothing.
Grant had always bet on sports.
In college it was twenty-dollar football pools.
Later it became online apps and fantasy leagues.
I had assumed it was stupid entertainment, not something Dad had considered serious enough to put in a final letter.
“How bad was it?”
“Bad enough.”
“Does Mom know?”
“No.”
“Your ex?”
“Yes.”
That explained more than I liked.
“You said the credit cards were forty thousand.”
“They were.”
“Was that all from gambling?”
“No.”
His voice tightened.
“Some.”
“How much?”
“About fifteen.”
I rubbed my forehead.
“Jesus, Grant.”
“I know.”
“Are you still betting?”
“No.”
“How long?”
“Three years.”
I waited.
May you like
He laughed without humor.
“Okay, two years and eight months.”
