Chương 6
“Mom forwarded it to Carol.”
“Why?”
“Because she was bragging.”
I stood.
“What does it say?”
Emily exhaled.
“Call him.”
I almost argued.
Then I hung up and called Mark.
He answered on the fourth ring.
“Hey.”
“Did you know they were talking about getting my house before I closed?”
Silence.
I walked into the kitchen.
“Mark.”
“I knew they were talking.”
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“That answer is useless.”
“I’m trying to remember.”
“No, you’re trying to decide how bad the truth sounds.”
He snapped back.
“Don’t do that.”
“Do what?”
“Talk to me like I’m Dad.”
“Then don’t answer like him.”
I heard a door close on his end.
The background noise disappeared.
“Tessa’s here.”
“I don’t care.”
“Well, I do.”
“Did you know?”
He lowered his voice.
“Yes.”
The word landed quietly.
I gripped the counter.
“How long?”
“A few weeks.”
“Before I bought?”
“Yes.”
I stared at the refrigerator.
A grocery list from Sunday was still stuck to it with a magnet.
Dish soap.
Coffee.
Trash bags.
The normality of it irritated me.
“What did they tell you?”
“That you were buying because it was a good deal.”
“It wasn’t a good deal.”
“I know.”
“It was market price.”
“I know that now.”
“You keep saying that.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“The truth would be a refreshing change.”
He swore under his breath.
Then Tessa’s voice came faintly through the phone.
“Just tell him.”
Mark said something away from the receiver.
I waited.
When he came back, his voice sounded smaller.
“They said you were planning to rent it out eventually.”
“To you?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“That was the idea.”
“Whose idea?”
“Mom’s first.”
“And yours?”
Another pause.
“Eventually.”
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
Not innocent misunderstanding.
Not entirely.
“How eventually?”
“Jack, I wasn’t planning to take your house.”
“You came over with furniture measurements.”
“I know how that looks.”
“It looks exactly like what happened.”
“I thought you were going to sell.”
“Why?”
“Because Dad said you didn’t really want to live there long-term.”
“I had owned it for three days.”
“I know.”
“Did that strike you as strange?”
“Yes.”
“But you still came.”
“Yes.”
His honesty almost made me angrier.
I turned away from the counter.
“What did you text Mom?”
He went silent.
That told me Emily had been right.
“What did you text her, Mark?”
“I don’t remember exactly.”
“Try.”
“Something stupid.”
“What?”
“I was pissed off.”
“About the house?”
“Yes.”
“Before I bought it?”
“After I found out you were under contract.”
My throat tightened.
“You knew before closing.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you say?”
He breathed into the phone.
Then, with visible reluctance even through his voice, he said, “I said it should’ve been mine.”
The room seemed to narrow around me.
Not because I hadn’t heard the idea before.
Dad had said almost the same thing.
But hearing Mark admit he had said it first changed the shape of everything.
“Why?”
“Because I was angry.”
“That isn’t a reason.”
“Tessa and I had put offers on three places.”
“I know.”
“We lost all three.”
“I know.”
“The last one was in that same area.”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Well, Mom did.”
“So she told you my purchase was somehow about you.”
“Basically.”
“And you believed her.”
“I wanted to.”
That answer stopped me.
Mark continued before I could speak.
“You want the ugly version?”
“Yes.”
“I was jealous.”
His voice was flat now.
“You had the down payment.”
“You had the credit.”
“You found a place.”
“You did everything right, like you always do.”
“I was thirty-one and living in a rental with a broken dishwasher while my older brother bought the kind of house I kept losing offers on.”
I leaned against the island.
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
He raised his voice slightly.
“Yes, Jack, I do.”
Tessa said something in the background.
Mark answered, “I’m talking to him.”
Then he came back.
“I sent Mom a message saying it should’ve been mine.”
“What else?”
“I said you didn’t need that much space.”
“What else?”
“I don’t know.”
“You do.”
He went quiet again.
Then he said, “I said maybe for once you could do something for me.”
I let out a breath through my nose.
“For once.”
“I was angry.”
“For once.”
“I know.”
I walked to the dining room.
The box of photographs waited on the table like evidence.
“When you crashed Dad’s truck, who drove you to work?”
“Jack.”
“When you moved home from college, who rented the trailer?”
“You did.”
“When you needed the deposit for that apartment on Grant Street?”
“I paid you back.”
“Eight months later.”
“I paid you back.”
“When you got arrested for that stupid bar fight?”
“Jesus Christ.”
“Who picked you up?”
“You.”
“For once.”
“I said I know.”
His voice cracked into anger.
“Do you want me to crawl through the phone?”
“No.”
“Because I can’t undo being an asshole.”
“No.”
“So what do you want?”
The answer came before I could polish it.
“I want to know why everyone thinks my life is inventory.”
Neither of us spoke.
That was the first time I had said it clearly, even to myself.
The house.
My time.
My patience.
My savings.
My ability to fix things.
My willingness to cover a bill and wait quietly for repayment.
Useful things.
Family resources.
Mark eventually said, “I don’t think that.”
“You did.”
“For a minute.”
“You showed up with a tape measure.”
“I know.”
“You let Mom walk through my office and plan a nursery.”
“I know.”
“You didn’t stop her.”
“I know.”
Each answer came softer than the one before.
Then Tessa’s voice sounded much closer.
“Mark, give me the phone.”
He muttered, “No.”
“Give it to me.”
There was a scrape, then another voice.
“Jack?”
I had met Tessa maybe six times.
She was practical, blunt, and usually seemed faintly amused by our family.
May you like
“Hi.”
“I did not know they told you any of this.”
