Chương 3
Harold’s voice came quietly.
“I never asked you to do that.”
Mark looked at him.
“You asked me every day.”
“No.”
“Not with those words.”
“Then don’t put them in my mouth.”
Rachel watched them.
Something old was happening between them, something she had seen pieces of but never the whole of.
Mark leaned forward.
“You wanted the west roof replaced.”
“It leaked.”
“You wanted the furnace done.”
“It was thirty-seven years old.”
“You wanted the drainage fixed before another thaw undermined the north wall.”
“I wanted maintenance done on my house.”
“With what money?”
Harold looked away.
Mark’s voice stayed low.
“That’s the part you always skipped.”
Rachel thought of her father’s phone calls over the last two years. The boiler had been acting up. The insurance company wanted another inspection. The county had raised something. Mark was behind on a project. Snow had come early. The kitchen stove needed a valve.
Small things.
Always small things.
She had sent money twice.
Two thousand dollars the first time.
Three the second.
Mark had returned one transfer.
She had taken it as pride.
Now she wondered if it had been shame.
“How much was the loan?” she asked.
“Two hundred seventy-five thousand.”
Daniel looked up.
“And it became three hundred twelve in eleven months?”
Mark nodded once.
“What kind of loan was it?”
“A bad one.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the answer that matters.”
Daniel leaned back.
“You borrowed against a property you did not own, using your father’s signature, from a lender charging enough that you had to sell the property less than a year later.”
“Pretty much.”
“And you represented to me that the owner consented.”
“Yes.”
Rachel stared at him.
“You could go to prison.”
Harold flinched.
Mark did not.
“I know.”
The lack of surprise frightened her more than his fear had.
“You know.”
“I’ve known for a while.”
“Then why were you loading somebody’s luggage into a car like this was a bad weekend rental?”
Mark looked at Daniel.
“Ask him.”
Daniel’s face closed.
Rachel turned.
“What?”
Daniel was silent long enough to make everyone in the room notice.
Then he said, “I told him I wanted the property empty by Monday.”
Harold laughed softly.
It was not amusement.
“You bought my house on Friday and wanted me out by Monday.”
“I was told you were already leaving.”
“Where?”
Daniel looked at Mark.
Mark picked up his coffee.
Rachel took a step toward him.
“Where did you tell him Dad was going?”
“An apartment in Fairmont.”
Harold frowned.
“I don’t know anyone in Fairmont.”
“I found one.”
“For me?”
“Yes.”
“Did it have a television?”
Mark stared at him.
Harold’s face was perfectly serious.
Rachel almost laughed.
The impulse made her angry with herself.
Mark put down his mug.
“It was a good place.”
“Did it have my furniture?”
“You could’ve taken whatever you wanted.”
“It’s generous of you to let me take my own furniture.”
“Dad.”
“No, I’m interested now. Was I supposed to get in the car Monday morning and discover that you had arranged the remainder of my life?”
Mark stood so suddenly his knee struck the table.
Coffee spilled across the wood.
Rachel reached automatically for a dish towel.
Nobody spoke while she wiped it.
The stupidity of the task calmed her.
When she finished, she left the wet towel beside the sink and looked at Mark.
“Where did the rest of Daniel’s money go?”
Mark hesitated.
“Some closing costs.”
“How much came to you?”
“Eighty-one thousand and change.”
“Where is it?”
“Still in the account.”
Daniel’s expression sharpened.
“What account?”
“The station operating account.”
“Can you prove that?”
“Yes.”
“Show me.”
Mark took out his phone.
Rachel expected him to object, but he opened the bank app, entered a code, and held the screen toward Daniel.
Daniel leaned closer.
Rachel saw the balance.
$84,219.17.
“What was in there before?” she asked.
“A little under three.”
Daniel sat back.
“So you haven’t spent it.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Mark gave him a flat look.
“I’m a lot of things. I’m not stupid enough to go buy a boat.”
Rachel folded her arms.
“You were stupid enough to forge two signatures.”
Mark’s mouth twisted.
“Apparently there are levels.”
Harold stood.
He had not touched his coffee.
“I want to see the loan.”
Mark’s eyes moved to him.
“The original paperwork.”
“I don’t have originals.”
“Copies, then.”
“Dad.”
“Now.”
Mark went upstairs.
Rachel listened to his boots on the old staircase.
Daniel took the brown envelope from the table and slid the deed back inside.
“Who is Northline?”
Rachel asked him.
“I don’t know. It appeared on the title commitment as a lienholder. My closing attorney told me the loan would be paid off at closing.”
“Did you ever ask why?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“I was told it financed improvements.”
Rachel glanced around the room.
The roof no longer leaked. New electrical outlets had been installed along the west wall. The windows on the platform side had been restored rather than replaced, which Harold had insisted on because the old glass bent the mountain light in the mornings.
She had noticed the work every time she visited.
She had never asked how they paid for it.
That knowledge settled unpleasantly beside her anger.
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
“I should’ve pushed harder.”
Rachel looked at him.
“Why didn’t you?”
He considered the question.
“Because I wanted the property.”
At least he did not dress it up.
“Why?”
Daniel looked toward the ceiling as Mark moved around upstairs.
“My wife and I used to stop here.”
Rachel waited.
“Before it closed?”
“The station cafe. Years ago.”
Rachel remembered the cafe.
Her mother had run it for nine summers after Harold retired from track maintenance. Coffee, pie, sandwiches, tourists, cyclists, railroad people. Rachel had hated waiting tables there as a teenager and missed it after moving away.
Daniel continued.
“My wife died four years ago.”
May you like
Rachel said nothing.
He gave a small shrug, uncomfortable with his own disclosure.
