Silence stretched long enough for me to hear a television in her room.
“She said you wanted to move.”
“No.”
“She said you’d chosen a condominium.”
“No.”
Lillian’s next breath sounded painful.
“I asked why you hadn’t called me yourself. She said you were embarrassed about needing money.”
I closed my eyes.
For two years, I had bought Rebecca’s favorite coffee. Somewhere during those mornings, she had begun telling people I could no longer afford my life.
“Did you sign it?” I asked.
“Yes.”
The answer landed hard, despite everything.
Lillian explained that she planned to sell investments left from the salon sale and her husband’s estate. Rebecca had told her the lower purchase price reflected repairs, a quick closing, and my wish to help the children.
“She said you wanted them to have a permanent home.”
“She was right about that much.”
Lillian began crying quietly.
I could not comfort her yet.
Nora asked about the bills. Lillian sounded bewildered. The salon loan had been paid when she sold the business. The medical statements had been settled by insurance.
Then she said, “Has the roof work at least started?”
I looked up at Nora.
“What roof work?”
“The sixty thousand. Rebecca said you couldn’t list the house until the roof and foundation were repaired. She said you’d repay me at closing.”
The office became very still.
There was nothing wrong with my roof.
Nora asked Lillian to preserve every message and bank record, and to come in with independent counsel if she could.
After the call, she laid her pen down.
“You should understand something before we go further. Your son’s signature matters too. A report may have consequences for him as well as Rebecca.”
Through the window, people crossed the street carrying lunches, opening umbrellas. Nobody outside knew that I was waiting for permission to stop protecting my child.
“Could we just stop the sale?” I asked.
“We can stop this transaction. That won’t establish where Lillian’s money went, or what other documents exist.”
