Chương 6
Emily locked the guest-room door.
Then she opened the cream envelope.
The first document was exactly what Mr. Keller had described: paperwork confirming that title to the house had been transferred to Emily through her grandmother’s estate plan.
The second was a letter.
Eleanor’s handwriting had deteriorated during the last year of her life, but she had insisted on writing it herself.
Emily recognized the capital E in her name.
She sat against the headboard and read.
The letter was not sentimental.
That would have been unlike Eleanor.
She began by complaining that lawyers charged too much for documents nobody read.
Emily laughed despite herself.
Then came the part that made her stop.
I am giving you the house because you are the only one who ever asked me whether I wanted to keep it.
Not what it was worth.
Not what could be done with it.
Not whether the stairs were too much.
You asked whether I wanted it.
I did.
Later I didn’t.
Those are different questions.
Emily read the lines twice.
Her grandmother wrote that Richard had been a good son in many ways and a difficult one in others. That he had spent money maintaining the property. That he believed this entitled him to it.
Maybe it does morally, Eleanor wrote. Lawyers can argue about legal things. Families argue about everything else.
She had not wanted the house sold immediately after her death because she feared Richard would use the money to cover business debt and regret it later.
She did not say he was a thief.
She did not say he was greedy.
She wrote that Richard loved solving problems so much that he sometimes forgot people were not problems.
Then she wrote something worse.
Your father thinks control is the same as care when he is frightened. Do not punish him for being frightened. Do not let him control you either.
Emily put the letter down.
She sat there until her phone dimmed.
At 9:43, someone knocked.
“Who?”
“Dad.”
She considered pretending to be asleep.
Instead she opened the door.
Richard had removed his blazer. His white shirt sleeves were rolled unevenly.
He looked older.
“Can I come in?”
Emily stepped aside.
He sat in the desk chair rather than on the bed.
For several seconds he stared at the silver suitcase standing near the closet.
“I didn’t know Linda packed that one.”
Emily almost said, That’s what you came to discuss?
Instead she waited.
Richard rubbed his jaw.
“I should not have said I would call the police.”
“No.”
“I was angry.”
“Yes.”
“The bracelet was in your bag.”
“Yes.”
“And Sarah was crying.”
“Yes.”
He looked irritated.
“You don’t have to answer like that.”
“Then say something I can answer differently.”
His eyes flashed.
Then he looked away.
“That sounded like your grandmother.”
“Probably why she left me the house.”
He gave her a sharp look.
Emily regretted it.
Not because it was false.
Because it was cruel.
She folded her arms.
“Sorry.”
Richard leaned back.
“Don’t be. I deserved that.”
The admission was so unusual that she said nothing.
He looked around the guest room.
“When your mother and I moved here, this room was purple.”
“I remember.”
“Your grandmother hated it.”
“She picked the color.”
“She blamed the painter.”
Emily smiled.
Richard did too.
For a few seconds there was no house transfer. No bracelet. No humiliation.
Just a shared memory of Eleanor refusing responsibility for a shade of purple she had selected from three sample cards.
Then Richard’s smile disappeared.
“I thought she was going to leave it to me.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t.”
Emily felt her patience thin.
He saw it and continued quickly.
“I mean, I built my life around that assumption.”
“You shouldn’t have.”
“I know that now.”
“You should have known it before.”
“Yes.”
Another unusual admission.
Emily sat on the edge of the bed.
Richard rubbed his hands together.
“I put close to a hundred and sixty thousand dollars into this place over fourteen years.”
That surprised her.
“What?”
“Roof. Windows. HVAC. Drainage. Kitchen remodel. Property taxes when Mom stopped paying them herself. Insurance for a while. There’s more.”
“Why didn’t I know that?”
“Why would you?”
“Because apparently I own it.”
“You didn’t then.”
Emily stared at him.
Richard closed his eyes.
“Bad wording.”
“No. Accurate wording.”
He leaned forward.
“I’m not asking you for anything tonight.”
“Good.”
“But this is more complicated than Martin made it sound.”
“I know.”
“There are expenses.”
“I know.”
“Promises.”
“You said promises.”
“My mother told me I would always have a home here.”
Emily thought about Eleanor’s letter.
“Did she say you would own it?”
Richard looked away.
That was answer enough.
“She let us move in after the recession,” he said. “Your mother and I had lost almost everything. I promised I’d maintain the place. I did.”
“I believe you.”
“I thought that mattered.”
“It does.”
“Legally?”
“I don’t know.”
He looked frustrated.
“I’m not talking legally.”
“Then yes.”
Richard stood.
He crossed toward the door, then stopped.
“I believed Sarah.”
Emily looked at him.
“I know.”
“I believed her too quickly.”
“Yes.”
His hand rested on the knob.
“I’m sorry.”
She waited for the substitute.
The offer to fix something.
Money.
A practical favor.
None came.
It was simply the sentence.
Small.
Late.
Not enough.
But real.
Emily said, “Thank you.”
Richard left.
She slept badly.
At six twenty the next morning, she woke to the sound of someone running the garbage disposal.
For one confused second she thought she was in her apartment.
Then she saw the bare patch on the wall where an old family photograph had hung before Linda took it downstairs for party decorations.
The house.
Her house.
The thought made her nauseous.
She put on jeans and found Diane in the kitchen grinding coffee.
Her mother had already removed half the balloons.
The birthday cake remained untouched beneath plastic wrap.
“Coffee?”
“Yes.”
May you like
Diane poured her a mug.
Emily drank it black because there was no cream.
