Chương 2
That rough, wheezing laugh he got when something struck him as much funnier than it deserved to be.
For a second, the dining room became harder to sit in.
I put down my fork.
Mom noticed.
Her expression softened, but only slightly.
“Owen, if this is true, then you should have contacted me.”
“You listed it through an agent.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
“You wanted a buyer.”
“We wanted a fair buyer.”
That made Lydia look up.
“What’s an unfair buyer?”
Mom turned toward her.
“Please stay out of this.”
“You announced it to twelve people over pie.”
“This is between my sons and me.”
“Apparently the cabin wasn’t.”
Grant slapped his palm against the table.
“Can everybody stop being cute?”
Ben murmured, “I haven’t said anything.”
“Then keep doing that.”
“Grant,” Lydia snapped.
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“This is insane.”
Mom was watching me again.
“How much did you offer?”
“The asking price.”
Grant laughed.
“That’s a lie.”
“No.”
“The asking price was already low.”
“I know.”
Mom’s lips parted.
She had understood something Grant had not.
The listing had described the cabin as a distressed property requiring substantial rehabilitation.
The photographs had been taken in March, before I reopened the place for the season.
One showed snow piled against the porch.
Another showed the old dock from an angle that concealed most of the work I had done.
The description mentioned an aging roof, original plumbing, and uncertain shoreline maintenance.
It did not mention the roof repair.
It did not mention the rebuilt dock supports.
It did not mention the electrical panel I had replaced through a licensed contractor the previous year.
Whoever had prepared the listing had been working from old information.
“Why didn’t you tell the agent about the improvements?” I asked.
Mom’s eyes narrowed.
“What improvements?”
That answer hurt more than I expected.
Grant shrugged.
“What is he talking about?”
I looked at him.
“The roof.”
“What about it?”
“The dock.”
“What about it?”
“The electrical panel.”
He stared at me.
I nodded once.
“Right.”
Mom looked between us.
“You did those things?”
“Who did you think did them?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
I had imagined this dinner during most of the six-hour drive home.
In those imaginary versions, I was colder.
Sharper.
I had perfect answers.
They had none.
The real thing felt less satisfying.
Mostly it made me tired.
“I assumed your father’s friend handled some maintenance,” Mom finally said.
“Which friend?”
“I don’t know, Owen.”
“Exactly.”
Grant shook his head.
“Whatever.”
He had always used that word when facts began inconveniencing him.
“None of that explains how you supposedly bought it without us knowing.”
“It was easy.”
I reached into the inside pocket of my jacket.
Mom followed the movement with her eyes.
Lydia sat back.
Grant’s face changed when I pulled out the folded copy of the closing statement.
I placed it beside the centerpiece.
He grabbed it before Mom could.
His eyes moved down the first page.
Then stopped.
“Blackwood Holdings LLC.”
Nobody spoke.
He looked up.
“What the hell is Blackwood Holdings?”
“Mine.”
His eyes narrowed.
“You own a shell company?”
“It’s not a shell company.”
“What is it, then?”
“A company.”
“That clears everything up.”
“It owns two warehouse properties and a small office building.”
Grant looked at Mom, then back at me.
“You own warehouses?”
“I own interests in the properties my business operates from.”
“You told us you worked in logistics.”
“I do.”
“You said you ran operations.”
“I do.”
Mom reached slowly for the document.
Grant did not give it to her.
“How long have you had this company?” he asked.
“Four years.”
His face reddened.
“So you hid money from us.”
That was so perfectly Grant that Lydia actually laughed.
She covered her mouth immediately.
Grant glared at her.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, say it.”
She shook her head.
“Please don’t make me.”
Mom held out her hand.
“Give me the paper.”
Grant slapped it into her palm.
She read more carefully than he had.
I watched her reach the purchase price.
Then the closing date.
Then the transfer information.
Her thumb pressed hard against the corner of the page.
“You were the cash buyer.”
“Yes.”
“You used this company so we wouldn’t know.”
“I made the offer through the entity that holds my real estate.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“No.”
She waited.
I let the silence stay where it was.
Finally, I said, “I didn’t want you to know.”
Grant pushed back from the table.
“There.”
He stood so quickly his chair legs caught on the rug.
“There it is.”
“Sit down,” Mom said.
“No, because this is fraud.”
Uncle Ray finally looked up from his beer.
“It isn’t fraud to buy something somebody advertised for sale.”
Grant turned on him.
“You’re a lawyer now?”
“Nope.”
“Then stay out of it.”
Ray nodded.
“Gladly.”
Grant planted both hands on the table and leaned toward me.
“You tricked Mom.”
I looked at her.
She was still reading the document.
“She had an agent.”
“That doesn’t matter.”
“She chose the asking price.”
“You knew something she didn’t.”
“I knew the cabin.”
“That’s exactly my point.”
“No,” I said.
“That’s exactly mine.”
He straightened.
For the first time that evening, he had no quick response.
Mom folded the document along its existing crease.
Her movements were careful now.
“What do you want?”
The question surprised me.
“Nothing.”
“People don’t do things like this for nothing.”
“I wanted the cabin.”
“You wanted to humiliate us.”
“No.”
Grant barked a laugh.
“Oh, please.”
I looked around the table.
At the good china.
At the candles.
At the family photographs visible through the dining-room doorway.
Dad had once occupied half that hallway.
Fishing pictures, Christmas pictures, one terrible photograph from 1998 in which he wore shorts too high above his knees and refused to admit it for the next twenty years.
May you like
Most of those pictures were gone.
I had spent years pretending that did not bother me because being bothered had never changed anything in this house.
