Chương 3
Richard pointed toward the patio. “There are children here.”
“Then I suggest you pack efficiently.”
“You’re throwing children into the street because she outranks you?”
Salazar’s face did not change. “Her rank has nothing to do with this.”
Adam’s phone rose again.
Evelyn saw the red recording light.
“Please don’t record the children,” she said.
Adam stared at her. “You’re worried about the children now?”
“No. I’m worried about what adults do with footage when they’re angry.”
He held the phone on her anyway.
Richard’s mother approached Evelyn with her arms close to her sides. Up close, the cream outfit looked less effortless. A small grease stain darkened one cuff.
“I don’t know what game is being played between you and your sister,” she said, “but my family was invited here in good faith.”
“By someone who had no authority to invite you.”
“We were told Camille owned half.”
“She doesn’t.”
“You could allow us one night.”
Evelyn looked toward the kitchen. Camille stood beside the lemonade, shoulders rounded, Richard’s hand no longer on her neck because he was arguing with the second deputy near the stairs.
“One night becomes evidence that I consented,” Evelyn said. “And I don’t know what your son has represented about this property.”
The woman’s lips parted, then closed.
Evelyn nodded toward the glossy folders. “You should ask him.”
For the first time, Richard’s mother looked afraid.
Packing took almost two hours.
People moved through the house in irritated currents, dragging suitcases, collecting chargers, blaming one another for misplaced sandals. A little girl cried because someone had packed her goggles. One of Richard’s sisters-in-law apologized to Miguel after her son spilled a bag of crackers near the pantry. Richard’s father carried two coolers without speaking. Adam kept filming until Deputy Salazar told him he was obstructing the doorway.
Camille packed the yellow suitcase last.
Evelyn stood near the kitchen island while her sister folded a blue dress with uneven hands. Neither of them spoke for several minutes. A ceiling fan turned above them. On the patio, a plastic cup rolled against a table leg each time the wind rose.
“You could have called me,” Evelyn said.
Camille kept folding.
“You would have said no.”
“Yes.”
“That’s why I didn’t call.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“It is. You just don’t like it.”
Evelyn leaned one hip against the island. Her shoes hurt. She had been wearing them since six that morning, and the back of her left heel had begun to burn.
Camille pushed the dress into the suitcase. “You don’t even come here.”
“I was here three weeks ago.”
“For one night.”
“I had work.”
“You always have work.”
“Is that why you gave Richard the key?”
Camille zipped the suitcase halfway, caught fabric, and pulled harder. “He wanted his family together.”
“At my house.”
“He said they’ve been looking down on us.”
“Us?”
“On him. On me. On what we have.”
Evelyn watched her sister fight the zipper. “What did you tell them you had?”
Camille stopped pulling.
From the driveway, Richard shouted that they needed to leave. His voice had lost its authority and gained a ragged edge.
“Camille.”
“It was one weekend.”
“What did you tell them?”
Camille looked up. For a moment she seemed younger than thirty-one, younger even than the girl who had sat on their father’s suitcase the night he left for surgery and insisted she could keep him home if she refused to move.
“I told them it was ours.”
Evelyn felt the words arrive and settle.
“Ours as in yours and mine?”
Camille looked toward the folders.
Evelyn followed her gaze.
“Klein Coast Hospitality,” she said.
Camille swallowed.
“What is it?”
“Richard’s company.”
“Using my name.”
“It’s my name too.”
“What does the company do?”
Camille resumed packing. “Vacation properties.”
“How many?”
“I don’t know.”
“How many properties does it own?”
“Evelyn, stop.”
“How many?”
Camille’s hands dropped to her sides. “None yet.”
The kitchen seemed to alter around that answer. Not visibly. The same lemonade sweated onto the counter. The same crumbs remained near the pantry. But the house no longer felt merely occupied. It felt used.
Evelyn picked up one of the glossy folders.
Inside were photographs of the patio, the bedrooms, the ocean-facing balcony, and the open kitchen. Some had been taken recently. In one image, a vase Evelyn had bought in Lisbon stood on the dining table. In another, Miguel’s maintenance ladder leaned against the side wall.
The photographs had been taken during times Camille possessed the emergency key.
A projected revenue chart followed. Beneath it was a line describing the house as the flagship property of a planned luxury rental portfolio. The words family-controlled coastal asset appeared twice.
There were no signatures. No deed. No explicit statement of ownership.
There did not need to be.
Evelyn looked at Camille. “How many people have seen this?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did Richard ask anyone for money?”
Camille’s face answered before she did.
“How much?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s becoming a habit.”
“His dad offered to invest.”
“How much?”
“He didn’t tell me.”
“Did you tell Richard’s father that this house belonged to you?”
Camille’s eyes moved toward the driveway. “I didn’t correct him.”
The shame in her voice was small and exhausted. Evelyn wanted to seize it and make it larger. She wanted Camille to feel the exact dimensions of what she had done.
Instead, she placed the folder on the counter.
“Take your suitcase,” she said.
Camille’s head came up. “That’s it?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“I don’t know yet.”
Richard shouted again.
Camille gripped the suitcase handle. “Please don’t destroy him over this.”
Evelyn looked at the company folder between them.
“I didn’t build this.”
“You know what I mean.”
“Yes,” Evelyn said. “That’s the problem.”
Camille wheeled the yellow suitcase across the tile. At the door, she paused.
“Mom would hate this.”
May you like
The sentence was chosen with care. Camille had always known where to place the knife.
Evelyn looked at the lemonade pitcher.
