Robert sat on the edge of a chair.
Megan remained standing. “This is getting ridiculous. Families transfer houses all the time.”
“With permission,” Ruth said.
“You told Robert he’d have it someday.”
“Someday is not a signature.”
Robert pressed his palms against his knees.
“We’re in trouble, Mom.”
There it was: the voice he used when he needed her. At eight, with a broken window. At nineteen, with an overdue tuition bill. Now, a grown man beside a document carrying a false version of her name.
“How much trouble?”
He looked at Megan.
She answered before he could.
“We borrowed for the business. Things slowed down. We needed collateral.”
Ruth pulled out a dining chair and sat. Her legs had begun to tremble, and she would not let either of them mistake that for agreement.
“You were going to borrow against my home.”
“Temporarily,” Robert said.
“And where was I supposed to live?”
Neither answered.
Ruth waited.
Megan folded her arms. “There are smaller places. Places with help.”
Ruth looked around the room she cleaned herself, toward the kitchen where she cooked every morning, then back at her daughter-in-law.
“Help doing what?”
“Don’t make this ugly.”
“You invited people to watch you put me out.”
Robert flinched.
Megan reached for her phone. “My mother will tell you this mortgage story is nonsense.”
“Call her,” Ruth said.
For the first time, Megan hesitated.
Then she made the call and put it on speaker.
Her mother answered with the weary warmth of someone glad to hear her child.
“Megan? Everything all right?”
“Did Robert’s mother ever give you money?”
A long pause followed.
Ruth stared at the grain of the table.
“Why are you asking?”
“Just answer.”
“Is Ruth there?”
“I’m here, Elaine.”
The little speaker carried a breath so uneven that Ruth felt it in her own chest.
“Oh, Ruth.”
Megan’s arms loosened.
