Chapter 6
Vanessa’s words held the hallway still.
“Ask Mom what she signed before you make me the villain.”
“I will,” I said. “When she’s ready to answer.”
Her eyes narrowed. “You think you can bring Dad in here and make him take your side?”
“I think it’s his desk.”
Walter stepped away to call the workshop. I stayed where I was, between Vanessa and the front door, while she watched me as if I might bolt for the desk the second her back turned.
A moment later, Walter held out his phone.
“Your father wants to talk to you.”
Dad’s voice came through thin but steady. “I’m coming back.”
“Dad, you don’t have to—”
“I said I’m coming back.” He paused. “I’m done having people decide what I can stand.”
Walter took the truck to get him. Vanessa didn’t move from the hallway.
“You really want him in the middle of this?” she asked.
“He’s already in the middle of it.”
For a few minutes, the only sound was the old house settling around us. Somewhere in the kitchen, the refrigerator motor shuddered on. I kept my eyes on Vanessa, but I could feel the desk at my back like a locked mouth.
When Walter returned, Dad climbed out slowly, one hand gripping Walter’s arm. The cold had reddened his cheeks. He wore a borrowed coat, and his broken reading glasses were tucked into a battered case in his shirt pocket.
Vanessa’s expression tightened when she saw him.
“Dad,” she said, softer now. “You should be resting.”
“I’ve done enough resting.”
He walked past her without waiting for an answer. At the desk, he reached for the drawer, then stopped.
“Key’s not in the tin,” he murmured. “I put it somewhere else.”
His fingers found the glasses case. He opened it and ran his thumb along the torn seam inside. A small brass key slipped into his palm.
“I kept it there after the drawer stuck,” he said. He looked at me. “I thought I’d remember.”
He fitted the key into the lock. It turned on the second try.
Inside lay a brown envelope and a stack of papers secured with a rubber band. Dad lowered himself into the desk chair, breathing carefully, and spread the papers under the lamp.
“These are copies,” he said. “I made them before the originals disappeared.”
The first page carried Mom’s name. Her signature sat near the bottom, familiar from birthday cards and grocery lists. Beneath it was a notary stamp bearing Cal Mercer’s name.
My stomach tightened.
Dad touched the paper with one blunt finger. “Your mother signed a page at the kitchen table. Vanessa told us it was for repairs.”
Vanessa’s jaw shifted. “That’s not what happened.”
“I watched her sign,” Dad said. “Cal wasn’t there.”
For an instant, nobody spoke. The old clock on the mantel ticked into the silence, each click sounding less like time passing than a door being tested.
Dad gathered the papers into a neat stack. His hand trembled, but he didn’t let go.
“Don’t turn me into somebody you have to protect from his own house,” he said to me. “If you find something, show me.”
I nodded. I wanted to tell him I was sorry—for the years I’d mistaken payments for presence, for every question I’d postponed because the answers might ask something of me. But this wasn’t a moment for me to make my guilt the center of the room.
A knock sounded at the front door.
Vanessa looked toward it. The color drained from her face.
Walter shifted closer to Dad. I slipped the copies into the envelope and went to answer.
Cal Mercer stood on the porch with a leather folder tucked under his arm. His gaze passed over me and landed on the desk behind my shoulder.
“I heard there was some confusion about the paperwork,” he said. “Thought I’d help straighten it out.”
“You heard right,” I said. “Come in.”
Cal stepped across the threshold as if the invitation had been his idea. He stopped when he saw Dad.
“Frank.”
“Cal.”
I laid the loan notice on the desk beside the copied pages. “Your name is on the notice. Your stamp is on this.”
Cal glanced down without leaning closer.
“A name on a copy doesn’t prove anything.”
“Dad says you weren’t here when Mom signed.”
Dad rose from the chair. Walter’s hand hovered near his elbow but didn’t touch him.
“I watched her sign,” Dad said. “You weren’t in the house.”
Cal’s smile appeared and vanished so quickly it felt practiced.
“Frank, you weren’t well. You may be mixing up which papers you saw.”
“I know what I saw.”
Cal turned to me. “The sale appointment is in the morning. You can make this ugly, but you can’t change what’s already been arranged.”
“Is that a warning?”
“It’s advice. You’ve been gone a long time, Michael. You don’t know who’s trying to keep this family from losing everything.”
The words found their mark. I felt them land in the part of me that already knew I’d stayed away too long.
Then Dad’s hand settled on the desk, beside Mom’s name.
“Whatever we lose,” he said, “we’ll decide together.”
Cal’s eyes flicked to the papers. I raised my phone and photographed each page, including the stamp. His expression hardened.
“You should be careful what you accuse people of.”
“I’m being careful.”
Cal tucked his folder more tightly under his arm. “Then be careful before morning.”
He left without another word. Walter watched him cross the porch and climb into his car, then shut the door against the cold.
Dad sat down again. He looked older under the desk lamp, but his voice didn’t waver.
“Don’t hide what you find from me.”
“I won’t.”
I opened the photograph on my phone and pinched the screen to enlarge the stamp. At first, the date blurred beneath the seal. I adjusted the image until the numbers sharpened.
May you like
Then my breath caught.
The notary stamp was dated four years after Uncle Raymond died.
