Patricia went into the dining room. The camera followed only as far as the hall, but I could hear her chair scrape the floor.
My phone buzzed again.
David: I can take the documents and leave. The notice is served.
I typed: Ask about the lender.
It was not part of the plan when I called him. But Terrence had been making inquiries about property he did not own, and Natalie had been measuring a room in a house they had barely visited for years.
Something else had happened before Thanksgiving dinner.
David read my message, then turned to Terrence.
“Which lender did you contact?”
“I don’t recall.”
“You gave them this address.”
“I made a call.”
“Did you send them any documents?”
Terrence rubbed his forehead. “A draft.”
“Of what?” Natalie asked.
He looked at her, and I saw the moment he realized he could no longer manage each person separately.
“A proposal,” he said. “For helping your parents.”
Richard took a step toward him. “Helping us with what?”
“You told me money was tight.”
“Everybody says money is tight.”
“You showed me the lease.”
Patricia reappeared in the hall. “Richard?”
My father held up one hand. “I showed you the lease because you said you could review our monthly costs.”
“And I did.”
“What proposal?”
Terrence swallowed.
Natalie’s voice sharpened. “Answer him.”
“We discussed whether there might be a way to buy the property.”
