My Son Hit Me 30 Times Then I Sold the House He Thought Was His

"Where are you?"

"Home."

"Good."

"Why?"

"Brandon's attorney just contacted me."

I looked toward the clock.

"What now?"

"They want to withdraw the incapacity allegations from the emergency request."

I said nothing.

Martin continued.

"Not the property claims."

"Why?"

"They say those allegations were included prematurely and without sufficient medical foundation."

I looked at the phone.

Brandon was waiting on the other line.

"Did Brandon tell them to do that?"

"I don't know."

"I think he did."

"Then don't reward him with assumptions."

"Always charming."

"I'm paid for caution."

"What about tomorrow?"

"Still happening unless they withdraw the whole request."

"Will they?"

"No indication."

I switched back.

Brandon was still there.

"You told your lawyer to remove the capacity allegations."

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Because they were wrong."

"They were wrong this morning too."

"I know."

"What changed?"

"You asked why I hit you."

I frowned.

"What does that have to do with court?"

"Nothing."

His voice lowered.

"That's the problem."

I waited.

"I've spent all day trying to make what happened last night part of the house fight."

He continued before I could speak.

"It isn't."

I looked down at Elaine's letter.

"No."

"I hit you because I lost control."

"Yes."

"The house didn't make me do it."

"No."

"You didn't make me do it."

I closed my eyes.

"No."

He breathed out shakily.

"And if I tell a judge you're incompetent because I'm scared of losing property, then I'm doing the same thing again."

"What same thing?"

"Making what I did your fault."

For several seconds neither of us spoke.

It was not forgiveness.

It was not enough.

But it was the first thing he had done all day that cost him something.

Then he said, "I'm going to the police station."

My eyes opened.

"Why?"

"To make a report."

"Against me?"

"No."

His voice trembled.

"Against myself."

"I don't know what they'll do," Brandon said.

His voice had gone thin in a way I had not heard since he was a teenager standing beside a wrecked pickup and waiting for me to arrive.

"You should talk to a lawyer before you walk in there."

"I have one."

"Your property lawyer."

"He handles criminal work too."

"I didn't know that."

"You don't know everything about my life."

The words could have been an accusation, but he sounded too tired to sharpen them.

I sat down again.

"Are you doing this because you think it will help tomorrow?"

"No."

"Because your attorney told you to?"

"No."

"Because Amber told you to?"

He gave a short, humorless laugh.

"Amber is telling me the exact opposite."

That did not surprise me.

"What is she telling you?"

"That I'm panicking and ruining everything."

I looked at the clock above the kitchen doorway.

The second hand moved with an irritating confidence.

"What do you think?"

"I think I already ruined something."

I said nothing.

"I don't know if I can fix it."

"You can't."

The answer came before I considered whether cruelty was useful.

Brandon went quiet.

I pressed my fingers against my forehead.

"I mean you can't undo it."

"I know."

"That isn't the same as saying nothing can change."

He breathed out.

"Okay."

The word sounded almost childish.

I hated that I noticed.

"Don't go alone," I said.

"My attorney is meeting me there."

"Good."

Another pause.

"Dad?"

"Yes."

"If they call you, you don't have to protect me."

My throat tightened.

"I haven't decided what I'm doing."

"I know."

"I may cooperate."

"I know."

"I may ask them to prosecute."

The words felt formal and ugly in my mouth.

"I know."

"You keep saying that."

"I don't know what else I'm supposed to say."

For once, neither did I.

He ended the call first.

I stood in the kitchen afterward with my keys still in my hand.

Then I called Martin and told him what Brandon had said.

Martin responded with a silence so long I checked the screen to make sure the call had not dropped.

"That's unusual," he said.

"For my son or generally?"

"Both."

"Does it affect tomorrow?"

"Possibly."

"How?"

"If Brandon admits the assault in a police statement, their characterization of the sale as retaliation after a mere disagreement becomes harder to maintain."

"Good."

Martin did not answer.

"What?"

"You sounded pleased."

"I am."

"Be careful with that feeling."

"Why?"

"Because if your son is about to expose himself to criminal consequences, there are no clean victories left."

I hated him for being right often enough to charge for it.

"I'm still coming to your office."

"Yes."

"Bring every document we discussed."

I packed Elaine's letter copy, the medical report, printed text messages, the urgent care paperwork, the River Oaks purchase file, and the latest Redwood records into an old leather case.

The case had belonged to my father.

One hinge squeaked.

I had been meaning to oil it for twelve years.

On the drive downtown, traffic slowed near the interchange.

A man in a landscaping truck ate something from a foil wrapper while steering with his wrists.

A woman in the next lane sang to herself with both windows open.

A motorcycle slipped between lanes illegally and disappeared ahead.

The world had no interest in the Reeves family crisis.

There was comfort in that.

Martin's office occupied the seventh floor of a building that had once seemed modern and now looked stubborn.

The receptionist, Carol, had worked for him almost as long as I had known him.

She took one look at my face and removed her reading glasses.