Chapter 3: There's a Lot You Don't Know
I got Mom into dry clothes and made her tea she didn't drink.
She sat at my kitchen table with both hands wrapped around the mug, staring at the steam.
I sat across from her and left my phone face-down between us.
It buzzed again.
Scott.
I didn't touch it.
"Mom.
Start from the beginning.
Not the end.
The beginning."
She was quiet for a moment.
"The first week was fine," she said.
"I thought I was being useful.
I made breakfast.
I helped with the kids in the morning.
I thought that's what family does."
"It is what family does.
When it goes both ways."
"Megan started leaving lists." She said it carefully, like she was still deciding whether it meant what she thought it meant.
"On the counter.
Every morning.
Things that needed doing."
"Lists."
"Groceries.
Laundry.
What to start for dinner and when." She paused.
"She stopped asking.
It just became the list."
I watched her hands tighten around the mug.
"Did you say anything to Scott?"
"Once.
About two weeks in.
I told him I felt more like a housekeeper than a guest." Her jaw moved.
"He laughed.
He said Megan just liked things organized.
That I was helping the whole family run smoother."
"He laughed."
"And then he said—" She stopped.
"What did he say, Mom?"
She looked up.
"He said, 'You're not paying rent.
This is how it works.'"
The kitchen was very quiet.
My phone buzzed a third time.
I turned it over.
Seven texts from Scott.
The last one read: *"I'm coming over.
We need to talk before you do something you'll regret."*
I set it back down.
"Mom, I need to ask you something and I need you to answer me straight."
She nodded.
"The brochure Scott had.
Did you see the name on it?"
Something shifted in her face.
"Sunrise Gardens," she said.
"Over on Millbrook Road."
I knew the place.
I'd driven past it a hundred times.
It wasn't a bad facility.
But it wasn't the point.
"Did Scott ever mention it before?
Before you moved in?"
She opened her mouth.
Closed it.
"Mom."
"There was a conversation," she said slowly.
"Back in February.
Before any of this.
I thought it was just…
general.
He asked me if I'd ever thought about what I wanted.
Long term.
I told him I wanted to stay in my house."
"And?"
"He said the house was going to become a problem eventually.
That it was too big.
Too much maintenance." She looked at the table.
"I told him your father and I bought that house together and I wasn't in any hurry to leave it."
"What did he say to that?"
Her voice dropped.
"He said, 'Mom, the house is worth a lot of money.
It doesn't make sense to just sit on it.'"
I sat back.
The house.
Dad's house.
The one they'd owned for thirty-one years.
The one that had been paid off for the last twelve.
"He wants to sell the house," I said.
Mom didn't answer.
She didn't have to.
My front doorbell rang.
May you like
We both looked toward the hallway.
I already knew who it was.
