Brandon’s mouth opened, then closed.
Evelyn spoke carefully.
“No sale could proceed on these terms without your informed agreement. Your recorded ownership hasn’t changed.”
But Brooke had already imagined it changed.
I could see that in the way she watched me, impatient with the distance between her plan and my consent.
“You don’t need this much house,” she said.
I looked around the room she had taken.
“No,” I said. “Apparently I only needed enough space to keep your laundry.”
A doorbell sounded downstairs.
Brooke glanced at the time.
Her parents.
The house wasn’t cleaned. The dry cleaning hadn’t been collected. Four people upstairs were sitting with the consequences of a morning when I hadn’t lowered my head.
Brandon stood, but Brooke caught his sleeve.
“Tell them we’re busy.”
He gently removed her hand.
“They drove two hours.”
When her parents reached the bedroom doorway, her mother, Denise, was holding a covered dish. Her father, Walter, took one look at the papers and stopped behind her.
Brooke began speaking before either could ask.
“She’s freezing our money and throwing us out.”
“The bank restricted disputed funds,” Evelyn said. “And nobody is being removed without a lawful arrangement.”
Denise looked at me.
“Is this about the loan?”
Brooke went still.
Walter’s hand tightened around the doorframe.
“What loan?” Brandon asked.
Denise lowered the dish onto the dresser.
“The twenty thousand we sent you.”
Brooke said, “Mom.”
“You told us she was behind on her share of the house expenses,” Denise continued. “You said you were trying to keep her from losing her home.”
My son turned toward his wife.
“You told me that was a gift.”
The worst part was how quickly Brooke looked at me.
Not her parents. Not Brandon.
Me.
As though I might still absorb this for everyone.
Denise’s face changed as she understood my expression.
“Oh,” she whispered.
Walter asked Brooke one question.
“Was any of that true?”
Brooke looked between them.
