Chapter 6: The Party Ends
By the time the last guest left, it was nearly nine o'clock.
I had spent the previous two hours doing three things.
I had called a family law attorney named Robert Hess, who was a colleague of a colleague and answered his personal cell on the second ring.
I had read Elise's photographs of the document twice more, slowly.
And I had put Sophie to bed myself, sitting on the edge of her mattress until her breathing slowed, her small hand wrapped around two of my fingers.
"Is Mommy going to be okay?" she asked, right before she fell asleep.
"Yes," I said.
"I promise."
She was asleep in under a minute.
She was exhausted in a way that five-year-olds shouldn't be.
I came back downstairs as the front door closed behind the last guest.
My mother was in the living room, shoes off, a glass of wine in her hand.
She looked comfortable.
She looked like a woman who had hosted a successful evening in her own home.
"There you are," she said.
"You missed a lovely dinner."
"I need the key."
She looked at me over the rim of her glass.
"What key?"
"The one on your necklace.
I need the key to your drawer."
She set her glass down on the side table.
"Nathan, it's late.
You've been traveling.
Whatever has gotten into your head tonight—"
"Elise showed me the document."
Silence.
"She photographed it before she signed it.
I've read it.
I've also spoken with a lawyer." I kept my voice even.
"I need the key."
My mother stood up.
When she spoke again, the warmth was gone.
"That document is a legal agreement.
She signed it voluntarily."
"She signed it because you told her I'd already reviewed it, which was a lie.
And because you threatened to call me and damage her marriage if she refused."
"I did no such thing."
"She told me exactly what you said to her."
"She's misremembering." My mother's chin lifted.
"Or she's lying.
Nathan, I have been in this house for nearly a year.
I have helped with Sophie.
I have managed things while you were away.
I am entitled to some security in my own living situation."
"This is not your house."
"You're my son.
This is my family."
"Elise is my family.
Sophie is my family." I took a step toward her.
"You used a paralegal to draft a document designed to trap my wife into a situation she couldn't leave without my mother's written permission.
In her own home.
While I was traveling." I paused.
"Give me the key."
My mother looked at me for a long moment.
Something shifted in her face — not guilt, not yet, but the first crack in the certainty.
"If you do this," she said quietly, "you will regret it."
"Give me the key, Mom."
Her hand moved to her necklace.
She unclasped it slowly, held the key out, and dropped it into my palm without touching my hand.
"Everything in that drawer is legal," she said.
"Donna made sure of it."
"Then you have nothing to worry about."
I went upstairs.
The drawer opened on the first try.
Inside: a manila folder, a small notebook with dates written on the cover, and a second document I hadn't known to expect — thicker than the first, with a different header at the top.
It wasn't a household agreement.
It was a petition for a formal change of property co-management rights, with Nathan Callahan listed as the primary resident and Marlene Callahan listed as co-managing party.
It had not been signed yet.
May you like
But there was a date written in the margin in my mother's handwriting.
This Friday.
