Susan’s face hardened. “She did agree.”
Betty stared at her. “To what?”
“To letting us move in.”
“I agreed to let you stay for two weeks while you found another place.”
Susan lifted her chin. “You said family should help family.”
“I said you could use the guest room.”
“You said your home was our home.”
“I said that to Jake.”
The words landed with such force that Susan’s expression shifted. For one instant, something close to fear showed beneath her anger.
Betty saw it. So did Harold.
Jake closed his eyes.
“Whose signature is on the papers?” Harold asked again.
Jake reached inside his jacket and pulled out a folded packet. The pages were creased, as if he had carried them for days and taken them out repeatedly without finding the courage to read them.
Betty recognized the blue edge of the county recorder’s stamp.
Susan lunged for the papers.
Jake moved before she could reach him. He stepped backward, holding them against his chest.
“Don’t,” he said.
Susan stopped.
It was a small word, spoken quietly, but the room changed around it.
Betty looked at her son. He had finally found his voice, and the sound of it frightened him.
“Give me those,” Susan said.
“No.”
Harold’s eyes narrowed. “What did you sign?”
Jake unfolded the first page. His fingers trembled so badly the paper shook.
“It’s a quitclaim deed,” he said. “A transfer of interest from me to Susan.”
Betty’s breath caught, though she had suspected something like it from the moment Susan began ordering her around.
Harold took another step. “You told me Betty signed.”
“She didn’t need to,” Susan said. “Jake is her son.”
“That is not how ownership works,” Harold replied.
Susan’s mother, Martha, had been silent near the staircase. She clutched a small purse against her stomach and stared at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time.
Susan pointed at Jake. “He told me he had authority.”
“I told you I was trying to help,” Jake said.
“You told me you would make her understand.”
“I never said you could take the house.”
“You signed.”
“I signed because you said the bank would foreclose if we didn’t refinance.”
“There was no bank foreclosure,” Betty said.
Susan turned on her. “How would you know?”
“Because I paid off the mortgage twelve years ago.”
The silence that followed was heavier than the first one.
