Darren didn’t answer his wife.
He looked exhausted, but I wasn’t prepared to rescue him from the conversation.
Thalia unfolded the attorney’s letter.
It confirmed that the property remained in the trust, that I was the authorized trustee, and that Darren’s residence there did not give him the right to sell, mortgage, or transfer the house.
He had permission to occupy it.
Nothing more had been promised in writing.
Thalia read the letter twice.
Then she said, “Darren, you told me we’d be able to use the equity in this house if we ever needed to.”
He stared at her.
“I thought eventually—”
“Eventually what?”
“That the trust would pass it to me.”
I shook my head.
“Darren, I never said when or whether that would happen.”
He looked toward me.
“I know.”
“Your father told you we wanted this house to be a place where you could build a life. He didn’t promise you legal ownership.”
Thalia put a hand over her mouth.
“I’ve been making plans based on a house we don’t own.”
“What plans?” I asked.
She hesitated.
“Renovations. Replacing the kitchen. I talked to a contractor about expanding the back of the house.”
I looked toward the glass doors overlooking the garden.
“Did you authorize any work?”
“No. I was getting estimates.”
“Good. Because alterations to the building need the owner’s approval.”
She gave a bitter laugh.
“So now we have to ask your permission to paint a wall?”
“Ordinary decorating is different from structural work, Thalia. But the house isn’t a resource you can borrow against or rebuild without consulting the trustee.”
She looked down at the papers.
