Chapter 3
I folded the note and put it back in the envelope.
“A photograph.”
Vanessa looked at it in my hand.
“He's been giving away more than photographs.”
“I'll talk with you tomorrow,” I said.
She glanced at the clock.
“You call the police, announce you own the house, then expect me to sleep here like nothing happened?”
“No. I expect you to leave my things alone while we work out what happens next.”
She studied me. Usually, when Vanessa stared for long enough, I started explaining myself. I had spent years doing that.
I picked up the envelope and walked past her.
My bedroom door wouldn't shut. A box had been wedged behind it. I moved the box, closed the door, and sat on the stripped bed.
I called my friend Maya.
“You can come here right now,” she said after I told her what happened.
“I'm staying. The officer's been here, and Dad knows. Could you stay on the phone while I put my room back together?”
“Of course.”
She talked about her terrible shift at the bakery while I remade the bed. I needed her ordinary stories. Every few minutes, she asked whether I'd found another missing item.
By midnight, my clothes were back in the closet. The photographs went on the shelf. I put Mom's sweater on the chair instead of folding it away.
I didn't sleep much.
At nine the next morning, Mr. Bell arrived. He sat with me at the dining table and reviewed the deed copy. He had the recorded version with him, along with notes from his meetings with Dad.
Vanessa came in carrying coffee. Lily followed, looking as if she'd barely slept either.
Mr. Bell introduced himself to Lily and asked Vanessa to sit.
“I want us to understand each other,” he said. “Marcus decided to transfer ownership after discussing it over several appointments. He signed the documents yesterday. I was present, and the deed has been recorded.”
Vanessa kept her hands around her cup.
“He fell in April,” she said. “He forgets things.”
“He has had difficult days,” Mr. Bell replied. “We took his health seriously when arranging the signing. I can discuss the process with his permission, and he has asked me to meet him after this.”
“So you knew he was going to do it?” she asked me.
“Yes.”
“For months?”
“He wanted to tell you himself.”
Vanessa gave a bitter laugh.
“How considerate.”
Mr. Bell didn't argue with her. He explained that no one was being asked to leave that morning. Vanessa and Lily had been living there, and any change in their living arrangement needed to be handled properly.
Lily's shoulders dropped with relief.
Vanessa noticed.
“Don't look so grateful,” she told her daughter. “They still plan to push us out.”
“I want my room back,” I said. “That's where this started.”
Lily faced me.
“I thought you had agreed to switch. Mom said she'd talked to you.”
“You saw my things in boxes.”
“I thought she packed them because you were working late.”
Her explanation didn't make what she had done right. But I could see how Vanessa had prepared her for the move.
“Next time, ask me,” I said.
“I will.”
Vanessa looked away.
Mr. Bell asked whether Vanessa had any written agreement from Dad about the house. She said she did, but it was at her sister's apartment. He invited her to have her own attorney review it and contact him.
As he gathered his papers, I noticed Vanessa watching the folder he put into his briefcase. She looked less angry than worried.
When he left, I drove to see Dad.
He was sitting in a chair near his window when I arrived. He had dressed in his own clothes instead of the center's gown. It made him look more like himself, though the cane beside him reminded me how far he still had to go.
“I should have told Vanessa sooner,” he said.
“You wanted to tell her when you came home.”
“I thought she'd wait a few days.”
I showed him the note I'd found.
His face softened.
“I hoped you'd find that after I was back to help you celebrate.”
“I found it under my books.”
He reached for my hand.
“I'm sorry.”
“It isn't your fault she moved my things.”
“I know. I am sorry I didn't see how she spoke to you before I got hurt.”
I looked at the cane.
“She was different when you were around.”
“I can still ask what happened.”
I told him about small things I'd never thought important enough to mention. Vanessa saying I was a guest in my own home. Vanessa moving Mom's photographs whenever company came. Vanessa answering questions I had asked him directly.
Dad listened. He didn't tell me I was misunderstanding her.
Then Mr. Bell arrived for their meeting. I offered to wait outside, but Dad asked me to stay.
He wanted to review his bank accounts, his bills, and the authority he'd given Vanessa while he was recovering. He had signed a limited authorization so she could pay household expenses while he was away.
Mr. Bell read it aloud. Vanessa could pay bills from a designated account. She couldn't sell the house, borrow against it, or change who owned it.
Dad nodded.
“That's what I understood.”
When Mr. Bell left, Dad looked troubled.
“Vanessa asked me for the account folder last week,” he said.
“Why?”
“She said the property taxes were due. I told her Bell had copies.”
May you like
He looked toward the window.
“I want to know what she was really looking for.”
