Chương 9
“It was still wrong,” Lydia added.
Mom nodded.
“Yes.”
I looked down at Dad’s letter.
There was one paragraph left.
If the deed never gets signed, Owen, do not spend your life fighting your mother over a building.
That caught me harder than anything before it.
I reread it.
Dad wrote that a cabin could be repaired, sold, lost, burned, or flattened by a storm.
He hoped I would keep it.
He did not want me to become the kind of man who measured love by whether a county record reflected what he had been promised at twelve.
At the bottom he had added one final line.
If you do get the cabin, fix the damn porch step before somebody breaks a hip.
I laughed and cried at the same time.
It was embarrassing and ugly and impossible to stop.
Grant looked over.
“What?”
I handed him the page.
He read the last line.
Then he laughed too.
Mom lowered her head.
For a few moments the room contained grief without argument.
Grant opened his own envelope fully and unfolded the remaining pages.
“There’s something else in here.”
He pulled out a photocopy.
I recognized the heading before he said anything.
It was the draft deed.
Dad’s name appeared beneath the legal description.
The signature line was empty.
Attached behind it was a handwritten note from Bell.
Bring this to the office or call me and I will come to you.
Grant looked at Mom.
“You kept the draft.”
“I forgot it was there.”
He started to respond.
Then stopped.
For once, none of us had enough energy to challenge every imperfect sentence.
I looked at the papers again.
“They don’t change the sale.”
Mom nodded.
“No.”
“They don’t change title.”
“No.”
Grant turned toward me.
“So the cabin is yours.”
“It already was.”
“I know.”
He looked at the floor.
“I mean it was supposed to be.”
That landed quietly.
Mom rose from Dad’s chair.
She looked older than she had at dinner.
“I’m sorry.”
I had imagined hearing those words from her for years.
In my imagination they fixed something.
In the office, they mostly made me tired.
“I don’t know what to do with that yet.”
Her face tightened.
“I understand.”
“No.”
I folded Dad’s letter carefully.
“I don’t think you do.”
She nodded again anyway.
Grant put his letter back into the envelope.
“I want to read mine at home.”
Mom looked at him.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“What about dinner?”
He glanced toward the hallway.
“I think Thanksgiving is dead.”
Lydia snorted before catching herself.
Grant almost smiled.
I slid Dad’s letter into my jacket beside the closing statement.
Mom watched.
“You’re going to the cabin tonight.”
It was not really a question.
“Yes.”
“Stay here.”
“No.”
“It’s late.”
“I’ve driven that road in worse.”
She started to argue, then stopped.
“Will you come back tomorrow?”
I looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
The answer hurt her.
I could see that.
I left it there anyway.
Grant and I walked into the hallway together.
He pulled on his coat while I searched for my keys.
Mom remained in the office doorway.
Lydia gathered her purse.
At the front door, Grant touched my sleeve.
“Hey.”
I looked at him.
“If you go up there tomorrow and find Dad’s socket sets, apparently half of them are mine.”
I stared at him.
“You got a hundred and ten thousand dollars.”
He nodded gravely.
“I withdraw the claim.”
I smiled despite myself.
Then his expression became serious.
“Owen.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry too.”
I looked at him for a long moment.
“For the money?”
“For not asking questions because the answers were convenient.”
That was harder to dismiss.
I nodded once.
Outside, our cars sat beneath the bare maple tree.
Grant walked toward his SUV.
Lydia headed for hers.
I opened my driver’s door.
Mom called my name from the porch.
I turned.
She stood beneath the light, arms wrapped around herself.
“There’s one more thing.”
Grant stopped.
I waited.
Mom looked toward the house behind her, then back at me.
“The buyer wasn’t the first offer.”
I closed the car door without getting in.
“What do you mean?”
She swallowed.
“We had another offer on the cabin three weeks before yours.”
Grant frowned.
“Who?”
Mom’s eyes stayed on me.
“Mr. Bell.”
The old lawyer’s name settled into the cold air between us.
“He offered more than asking,” she said.
“And when I refused him, he told me I should call you before I sold it to anyone else.”
For several seconds, nobody said anything.
Grant looked from Mom to me.
“Bell tried to buy it?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
“You didn’t ask?”
“I did.”
Mom rubbed her hands over her upper arms against the cold.
“He said the place meant something to David and he didn’t want it going to a developer.”
That answer made sense until the last part.
I frowned.
“A developer?”
Mom looked toward the street.
“The first agent said most serious buyers would probably tear it down.”
My stomach tightened.
The cabin sat on three wooded acres with nearly two hundred feet of lake frontage.
The structure itself was modest.
The land was not.
“Bell knew that?”
“Yes.”
“And he offered more than asking?”
“Yes.”
“How much more?”
“Twenty thousand.”
Grant whistled softly.
“And you turned him down?”
Mom looked at him.
“He wanted conditions.”
“What conditions?”
“He wanted thirty days.”
“For what?”
“To inspect the property and review something with his attorney.”
Grant blinked.
“He is an attorney.”
“I know that.”
“Then what was he reviewing?”
Mom did not answer.
I shut the car door again.
“What did Bell tell you to call me about?”
She hesitated.
“The cabin.”
“Obviously.”
“He said David had been clear about what he wanted.”
The key in my jacket pocket pressed against my leg through the fabric.
“You never told me Bell made an offer.”
“No.”
“Did your agent know?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“And you took mine for less.”
Mom lifted her chin slightly.
