I had known Elaine for six years. She lived two doors down from the lake house and had been the person who brought soup after George died, the person who took me grocery shopping when grief made ordinary decisions impossible.
“I thought I would feel relieved,” I said.
“About selling?”
“About leaving.”
“And?”
“I feel relieved. And guilty. And sad. And angry. Sometimes all at once.”
“That sounds about right.”
“I keep wondering if I should have told Patrick in person.”
Elaine tilted her head.
“Would he have listened?”
I remembered the last few years. Patrick was never openly cruel. That almost made it harder to explain.
He called on birthdays. He brought flowers on Mother’s Day. He checked the furnace before winter and changed the smoke-detector batteries when he visited.
But those gestures had gradually become evidence, in his mind, that he was a good son. Whenever I tried to speak about money or boundaries, he would point to them.
*I’m there whenever you need me.*
As if changing a lightbulb gave him a claim to the house.
“I don’t know,” I said.
Elaine reached for my hand.
“You did not owe him your home because he loved you imperfectly.”
I looked toward the window.
The marina lights reflected on the dark water, trembling with every passing boat.
“I wish he had asked me what I wanted.”
“Did you ever tell him?”
“I shouldn’t have had to.”
“No,” she agreed. “But sometimes people don’t notice the boundary until they walk into it.”
At the hotel, Patrick and Megan barely spoke through dinner.
Their children sat between them, eating macaroni and cheese from a children’s menu. Patrick tried to make conversation, asking about the cruise and the activities they had enjoyed.
Their daughter told him about a dance show near the pool. Their son described a paper airplane competition.
Megan smiled at the right moments, but her attention remained on her phone.
She had searched the county property records.
The sale was listed.
The deed had been transferred to David and Noor Rahman for a cash purchase.
The closing date was exactly what my note had said.
The house was no longer mine.
It was no longer theirs.
Megan turned her phone toward Patrick.
