“That isn’t what I asked.”
Catherine took a step toward him. “Richard, she doesn’t seem to know anything about this.”
Harper said they’d simply wanted to make everything easier before discussing it with her. She pointed to the signature box and called it a placeholder, even though the page carried a review submission number and a recent date.
Barbara set down her suitcase. Until that moment, Harper had believed she was looking at a woman waiting to be dismissed. Now she saw her eyes follow the suitcase as though its position mattered.
“Caleb,” Barbara said, “did you tell anyone they could submit plans as if I approved them?”
He shook his head, then stopped. “I told Harper you probably wouldn’t mind. I thought we could talk about it when we arrived.”
“You thought my consent could come after the application?”
He wiped his palms on his trousers. “Mom, no construction has started.”
That was a tiny consolation. No construction had started because the building required advance review. It wasn’t evidence that they had respected her.
Mr. Alvarez cleared his throat. “Ms. Barbara, if you would like, I can ask our property manager to verify whether an application was received. I can’t discuss the files with anyone else.”
“Yes, please.”
Harper looked insulted. “You’re making a scene in public.”
Barbara glanced around the lobby. Nobody was shouting. The only sound was a luggage wheel humming against marble as Catherine shifted her bag away from Richard’s. “I’m asking about my own home,” she said.
“After everything we’ve done for you,” Harper started.
Barbara turned to her. “List three things you have done for me that required you to take my bedroom.”
She opened her mouth, then shut it. Richard muttered that families usually supported one another. Catherine looked at him sharply.
Barbara’s phone rang while they stood there. Patrick’s name brightened the screen. He had called to confirm their meeting because his schedule had changed; he could come at eight thirty instead of ten.
Barbara told him what was in front of her. He asked her to photograph the page and the submission number, without arguing with anyone or taking documents by force. Harper reluctantly laid the folder on the concierge’s counter while she took pictures.
“Do not sign a thing tonight,” Patrick said. “And please keep your keys and access cards with you.”
Barbara almost laughed. She’d carried her keys around the world of her own life for years, paying bills and opening doors and never thinking they could become objects of negotiation.
After they hung up, Barbara straightened her suitcase. “I’m not going to a motel,” she said. “You may find accommodations elsewhere. Nobody is staying in my condo tonight.”
Harper stared. “You promised us privacy.”
“I said I understood what you wanted. I didn’t give you permission to take it.”
Caleb stepped forward. “Mom, maybe Catherine and Richard can stay just one night. They’re tired.”
The familiar reflex stirred in her. Barbara knew what it was to arrive after a long trip, exhausted and needing a place to put your bags. For one moment she almost offered her own bed out of habit.
Then Barbara looked at the signature that wasn’t hers. “There are beautiful hotels on this beach. I’ll help your parents call one, but the decision about my apartment is not open for debate.”
Catherine spoke before anyone else. “That’s reasonable. Richard, get the bags.”
Her voice wasn’t loud, but her husband’s face changed. He had spent the afternoon behaving like a man inspecting a purchase. Now his wife was treating him like someone who’d overstepped in another person’s home.
Harper grabbed Caleb’s arm. “You’re going to let her embarrass my parents?”
He looked at Catherine, who had already begun searching hotel numbers on her phone. “We should go,” he said quietly.
