Chương 7
“So you decided to sell my house instead of asking for help.”
Matthew’s face tightened.
“When you say it like that—”
“How should I say it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Neither do I.”
He nodded.
They sat with that.
Finally Matthew said, “Brooke proposed the house.”
“Did you know she’d get paid?”
“No.”
“Did you know the offer was low?”
“I knew it was below what Zillow said.”
“Matthew.”
“I know. I know.”
He lowered his voice.
“She said those numbers aren’t real market value. She said by the time we dealt with repairs and commissions and taxes and whatever else, a cash buyer made sense.”
“Did you believe her?”
“I wanted to.”
The answer was immediate.
Suzanne looked at him.
There.
Not stupidity.
Not malice.
Need.
Need had an ugly talent for making convenient explanations sound intelligent.
Matthew continued.
“She said if you moved into a retirement community, you’d be safer, and the house money could support you for the rest of your life. She also said…”
He stopped.
“What?”
He looked miserable.
“She said if there was anything left after you were settled, maybe you could lend us enough to get current.”
Suzanne sat back.
“And you agreed?”
“I didn’t say no.”
“Same thing?”
“No.”
He looked at her directly.
“But close enough.”
Suzanne appreciated the distinction more than she wanted to.
“Did you ever intend to tell me that part?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
He gave a humorless laugh.
“Apparently after closing. It must run in the marriage.”
Suzanne almost smiled.
Then she remembered Brooke’s consulting fee.
“Are you leaving her?”
Matthew blinked.
“No.”
The certainty surprised Suzanne.
“You’re not angry?”
“I’m furious.”
“But.”
“But I married her.”
“That has not historically prevented divorce.”
“Mom.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
He stared at his coffee.
“She did something wrong.”
“Yes.”
“She also spent four months watching me wake up at three in the morning and pretend I wasn’t panicking. She took extra clients. She stopped buying things for herself. She covered for me with people because I was too embarrassed to tell them I was unemployed.”
Suzanne said nothing.
“She also arranged to make twenty-five grand off your house.”
“Yes.”
“Both things are true.”
That sounded more adult than anything he had said the day before.
Suzanne hated that it made her proud.
“Did she admit it was wrong?”
Matthew took a long time.
“She admitted she should’ve disclosed it.”
“That is not what I asked.”
“I know.”
“Did she admit it was wrong?”
“No.”
Suzanne nodded.
Matthew’s voice lowered.
“She thinks she was solving a problem.”
“Was I the problem?”
His eyes lifted.
“No.”
“Yesterday I was.”
“No.”
“You signed off on the papers being brought to my house.”
“Yes.”
“You asked me to sign quickly.”
“Yes.”
“You told me I was overthinking.”
He closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
Suzanne’s throat tightened.
“Then yesterday I was the problem.”
Matthew did not defend himself.
For a while they listened to the coffee shop.
A baby began crying near the counter.
Someone laughed too loudly.
Rain streaked the windows in thin diagonal lines.
Matthew finally said, “What did you change in the trust?”
Suzanne looked at him.
He held up a hand.
“I know how that sounds.”
“It sounds like a question.”
“I don’t want to know the amount.”
“What do you want to know?”
“If I’m out.”
Suzanne leaned back.
“Would it change anything?”
He looked at her for several seconds.
“No.”
She believed he wanted that to be true.
She did not yet know whether it was.
“I removed you as automatic successor trustee.”
His face tightened.
“Okay.”
“I did not remove you as beneficiary.”
He blinked.
“I’m still—”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because inheritance is not a reward for good behavior.”
He stared at her.
Suzanne continued.
“And disinheritance should not be a punishment delivered in anger.”
Matthew looked down.
“I don’t deserve it.”
“That is not a useful sentence.”
“It’s true.”
“Maybe. Still not useful.”
He gave a small laugh.
Then his eyes filled.
He looked away before any tears fell.
Suzanne waited.
When he spoke, his voice was rough.
“Dad trusted me with that?”
“Yes.”
“Eight years ago?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“You’d have to ask him.”
“I can’t.”
“No.”
The word sat between them.
Matthew took a breath.
“What do you think he’d say?”
Suzanne looked out at the wet street.
“I think he would say you are capable of being a very good man and equally capable of becoming unbearable when frightened.”
Matthew laughed through his nose.
“That sounds like him.”
“He would also probably call your sweater depressing.”
Matthew looked down at it.
“He bought me this sweater.”
“I know.”
They both laughed then.
Not much.
Enough.
It hurt.
When they stopped, Matthew said, “Can I see the ranch?”
Suzanne looked at him.
He seemed almost embarrassed.
“I mean someday.”
“You’ve seen it.”
“I was twelve.”
“You complained about mosquitoes for six consecutive days.”
“I was attacked.”
“You received two bites.”
“They were aggressive mosquitoes.”
Suzanne looked at her cup.
“Why do you want to go?”
Matthew answered carefully.
“Because Dad trusted me with something I didn’t even know existed.”
“That is about Dad.”
“Yes.”
“What about the ranch?”
“I don’t know enough to have an answer.”
That was the correct answer.
Suzanne distrusted how much she liked hearing it.
She gathered her purse.
“Edward is flying out Monday.”
Matthew looked up.
“To Montana?”
“Yes.”
She stood.
“If you want to see the ranch, buy your own ticket.”
He stared at her.
“You’re inviting me?”
“I’m allowing you to invite yourself.”
A smile started.
Suzanne pointed at him.
“Do not make me regret the wording.”
He nodded.
“Understood.”
She walked toward the door.
Behind her he said, “Mom?”
She turned.
“I’m sorry.”
She looked at him.
This time she did not say it was all right.
Because it was not.
“I know.”
She left him there.
Brooke came to the house Sunday afternoon alone.
Suzanne saw her through the front window and considered pretending not to be home.
Instead she opened the door.
Brooke wore jeans, flats, and a dark rain jacket.
Suzanne had never seen her in flats.
“Can I come in?”
Suzanne stepped aside.
Brooke entered but did not take off her jacket.
Her eyes moved toward the coffee table.
The sale papers were gone.
Suzanne had shredded them the previous evening.
“Matthew told me you met.”
“Yes.”
“He’s going to Montana.”
“So I hear.”
Brooke looked at her.
“You’re not going?”
“Not this trip.”
That seemed to surprise her.
Suzanne walked toward the kitchen.
“I’m making tea.”
“I don’t need anything.”
“I do.”
Brooke followed.
Suzanne filled the kettle.
Brooke stood with both hands in her jacket pockets.
Finally she said, “I resigned from the Northline consulting agreement.”
Suzanne turned on the stove.
“All right.”
“I sent them written notice.”
“All right.”
“I’m not taking the fee.”
Suzanne nodded.
Brooke’s jaw tightened.
“You could at least acknowledge that.”
“I did.”
“You said all right.”
“That was acknowledgment.”
“You know what I mean.”
Suzanne leaned against the counter.
“What would you like?”
Brooke looked at her.
“I don’t know.”
“That makes two of us.”
The kettle began warming.
Brooke walked to the refrigerator.
She looked at the photographs.
Matthew at sixteen.
Daniel holding a trout.
Suzanne and Daniel in Arizona, both squinting into the sun.
Brooke touched none of them.
“I was raised by my mother,” she said.
Suzanne waited.
“My dad disappeared when I was nine. Not dramatic. No affair we knew about. No second family. He just decided he was done.”
Suzanne had not known that.
Brooke gave a short laugh.
“He sent birthday cards for three years. Twenty dollars in each one. Then stopped.”
The kettle began to hiss.
“My mother worked payroll for a construction company. She used to write every bill on the calendar in red ink. Mortgage. Power. Insurance. She would sit at the table and move money around with a calculator.”
Brooke turned.
“I hate being afraid of money.”
Suzanne said nothing.
“I hate it. I hate opening banking apps. I hate bills. I hate when someone says we’ll figure it out, because my mother said that every month for ten years and usually what she meant was something wasn’t getting paid.”
The kettle whistled.
Suzanne turned off the burner.
Brooke wiped beneath one eye, irritated with herself.
“I saw your house and I saw a solution.”
“You saw my house as money.”
“Yes.”
The honesty startled them both.
Brooke looked down.
“Yes.”
Suzanne poured the water.
“And the fee?”
Brooke stared at the counter.
“I told myself it was work.”
“Was it?”
“Some of it.”
Suzanne waited.
Brooke’s mouth twisted.
“And some of it was me seeing a way to breathe.”
There it was again.
Need.
Not innocence.
Need did not erase harm.
But it made the harm human-sized.
Suzanne set two cups on the table.
Brooke sat.
“I’m not asking you to forgive me.”
“Good.”
Brooke almost smiled.
“I figured.”
May you like
Suzanne dipped the tea bag twice.
“You were condescending to me before Matthew lost his job.”
