“Good.”
“I understand the arrangement now. I can make this my home, but I can’t sell the house or borrow against it.”
“That’s right.”
“And you can’t simply change your mind and take it back.”
“No.”
He smiled faintly.
“Vanessa finally read a copy of the letter.”
I turned toward him.
“You had a copy?”
“Claire sent me the original text after I asked. The one Vanessa tore up was yours to keep.”
I nodded.
“What did she say?”
“She cried.”
I waited.
“Not because she couldn’t sell the house. Because she realized you’d written about Dad and me spending summers here. About wanting our children, if we have any, to know this place.”
My throat tightened.
I’d spent hours writing that letter.
I told Ethan about his father teaching him to fish from the dock.
About the summer he learned to ride a bicycle on the gravel driveway.
About the little bedroom where he used to sleep with the windows open so he could hear the water.
None of those memories required a mansion.
They required time.
Ethan rested his arms on the railing.
“Vanessa wants to apologize to you in person.”
“I know.”
“I told her you need time.”
“Thank you.”
He looked toward the lake.
“We’re not moving here immediately.”
I nodded.
