Chương 12
I watched him.
“When?”
“Today.”
“Not after you talk to Mom.”
“No.”
“Not after Dad explains.”
“No.”
“Today.”
“Yes.”
He looked annoyed now, but underneath it was something steadier.
Maybe embarrassment had finally become responsibility.
He gathered the screenshots into the envelope.
I put my hand over it.
“I need copies.”
“These are yours.”
I looked at him.
“You made these for me?”
“Tessa made two sets.”
I nodded.
“Thank her.”
We paid separately.
That felt important for reasons I couldn’t explain.
Outside, Mark stopped beside his car.
“Jack.”
I turned.
“If I’d asked you before all this.”
“Asked me what?”
“If I’d said we were struggling and asked whether you’d ever consider renting us the house someday.”
I studied him.
“I would’ve said no.”
He gave a small, almost embarrassed laugh.
“Okay.”
“But I would’ve helped you figure out something else.”
His smile disappeared.
“I know.”
“No.”
I looked directly at him.
“That’s the point.”
“You didn’t know.”
He stood there with the envelope tucked under one arm and car keys hanging from his hand.
Then he nodded.
“You’re right.”
He opened the driver’s door.
Before getting in, he said, “Mom’s going to blame you for turning me against them.”
“She already thinks I control the weather.”
Mark laughed despite himself.
Then he got into the car.
At 1:17 that afternoon, my phone started vibrating on my desk.
Once.
Twice.
Then continuously.
Dana looked over the divider.
“Either you’re very popular or civilization is ending.”
I unlocked the screen.
The family group chat had exploded.
Mark had posted screenshots.
Not all of them.
Enough.
His message at the top was short.
Jack never offered me his house.
Mom and Dad told me he had.
I believed them because I wanted to believe them.
That was wrong.
He did not cancel his housewarming either.
They told us he did.
Please stop saying Jack caused this.
I read it twice.
Then I saw Dad’s response.
Call me now.
Mom followed.
Mark, take this down.
Then Aunt Carol.
I think everyone needs to read it first.
Another cousin wrote, Wait, what?
Uncle Steve asked, Is that why you were asking me about mortgage transfers?
Dad stopped replying.
For almost three minutes, nobody wrote anything.
Then Mom sent one message.
I hope you boys are happy with what you’ve done.
I stared at the screen.
Dana leaned closer.
“Good news?”
I turned the phone facedown.
“No.”
Then, after a second, I turned it back over.
“Maybe.”
At 1:24, Aunt Carol called me.
I let it ring once before answering.
“Hi.”
“Your mother is calling everyone.”
“That sounds efficient.”
“Jack.”
Her voice carried the tired warning of someone who had already listened to three versions of the same disaster.
“I’m not joking.”
“Neither am I.”
“She says Mark misunderstood.”
I looked at the group chat.
Mark had stopped posting.
Dad had too.
Mom was still typing and deleting, judging by the little indicator that kept appearing beneath her name.
“What did Mark misunderstand?”
“She hasn’t gotten that far.”
“That’s convenient.”
Carol sighed.
“I’m not calling to fight with you.”
“Good.”
“I’m calling because I think I owe you an apology.”
I sat back.
“For what?”
“For believing them.”
The answer was simple enough that I didn’t know what to do with it.
Carol continued.
“When your mother called about the housewarming, I thought you really canceled.”
“You had no reason not to.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“No.”
“I should have texted you.”
“Yes.”
She absorbed that without protesting.
Then she said, “I also should have questioned some of the other things.”
“Like what?”
“The way she kept talking about Mark and the house.”
I stared at the fluorescent lights above my desk.
“Why didn’t you?”
“Because it sounded like family nonsense.”
“What does that mean?”
“You know.”
“I’m starting to think I don’t.”
She was quiet for a moment.
Then she said, “It means your mother has always worried more about Mark.”
There it was.
Not a revelation.
An admission.
Carol spoke carefully.
“And everyone got used to it.”
I looked toward Dana’s desk.
She was on a call now, tapping a pen against a yellow legal pad.
“Used to what?”
“Making allowances.”
“For him?”
“For her.”
That surprised me.
Carol continued.
“Your mother gets frightened when Mark struggles.”
“She gets controlling.”
“Yes.”
“You knew?”
“I knew she could be.”
“So when she said I was selfish for buying a house—”
“I thought she was being dramatic.”
“And when she said Mark should have it?”
“I thought she was venting.”
“She asked Uncle Steve about transferring mortgages.”
“I didn’t know that until today.”
“She told people I offered Mark the house.”
“I didn’t know that either.”
I pressed my fingers against my forehead.
This was the problem with families.
Everyone knew a piece.
Nobody compared notes until something broke.
Carol lowered her voice.
“There’s something else.”
My shoulders tightened.
“What?”
“Your father called me last night.”
“What did he say?”
“That you’re collecting messages.”
I sat very still.
“How does he know?”
“Your mother must have told him Emily sent you screenshots.”
“That doesn’t answer how Mom knows.”
Carol said nothing.
Then I knew.
“Emily told her?”
“No.”
“Then who?”
“Leah mentioned it.”
Of course.
Nothing stayed contained.
I looked at the family chat again.
There were seventeen unread messages now.
Carol said, “Your dad thinks you’re building a case against them.”
“I’m building a record.”
“I told him that distinction probably wouldn’t comfort him.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“He asked me to delete old messages.”
My hand stopped moving.
“What?”
“He said people say things casually in family chats and those comments shouldn’t be taken out of context.”
“Did you delete anything?”
“No.”
“Did anyone else?”
“I don’t know.”
“Carol.”
“I don’t know, Jack.”
Her voice hardened.
“I’m telling you what he asked.”
I stood and walked toward the window.
Below, cars moved slowly through the intersection.
A delivery truck blocked half a lane.
May you like
Someone leaned on a horn.
“Why would he ask you to delete anything if everything was innocent?”
