Chapter 2: Mason Held the Deed Against the Daylight
The back door opened an inch, letting a blade of daylight cut across the floor. Mason froze with his hand on the knob. He was not dressed for the party; his shirt was wrinkled, and his attention stayed fixed on the folder instead of the feverish child in my arms. Behind him, the yard looked ordinary. The sight of it made the kitchen feel less safe.
I kept Frederick close and used my shoulder to push the door shut. The latch clicked back into place. Mason's fingers withdrew from the knob, but they did not leave the folder.
Amy moved behind me. She picked up a dish towel, wiped her hands, and reached for the phone on the counter. Teresa crossed the room with measured steps. Her new dress brushed the cabinet doors. She glanced at Frederick, then at the folder, and finally at Mason.
No one spoke.
The party noise had thinned into the sound of ice shifting in glasses. A relative carried a seafood platter away from the sink, clearing a path without being asked. Another gathered the liquor bottles into a cardboard box. The decorations above us continued to sway from the air vent, bright and foolish against the stillness.
Mason pulled the folder toward himself. I put my free hand over it. The cardboard felt warm from his grip.
Amy opened the phone and held it where I could see the screen. She had written a note in the margin of an old shopping list. The words were uneven, pressed hard into the paper: original deed. My office drawer. Teresa asked for it yesterday.
She turned the paper toward me, then toward the folder. Her face had lost what little color it had. I looked at Teresa. She raised her chin and pointed at the folder, then toward me, as if the motion itself gave her the right to decide where it belonged.
I pulled the folder free.
The metal fastener inside had been bent. The first page was a photocopy of the deed, but behind it was the original: heavier paper, dark type, the legal description of the property, and the ownership language I remembered signing years earlier. I did not read every line. I did not need to. The seal at the bottom was enough.
Teresa stepped closer. Amy caught my wrist before I could move toward her. Her fingers were cold despite the heat of the kitchen. She shook her head once.
Frederick made a thin sound against my shoulder. I looked down. His cheeks were still flushed. The party had been built around his birthday, but he had been kept beside a sink while everyone else ate.
I carried him toward the hallway. Amy followed, but stopped when Teresa shifted into the opening. The two women faced each other. Teresa's hand rested against the door frame. Amy's other hand closed around the phone.
I took out my own phone and selected emergency services. The screen reflected in the folder's plastic cover. My thumb hovered for a moment. Calling would bring strangers into the house, create a record, and make the family argument impossible to contain. Not calling would leave the deed in the same hands that had removed it from my office.
I pressed the call button.
The operator's voice remained inaudible to me beneath the rush of blood in my ears. I gave the address, said there was a sick baby, and held the folder against my side. Amy went upstairs with Frederick while I stayed at the bottom of the stairs, watching Mason and Teresa.
Mason lowered his gaze. Teresa did not.
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Outside, a vehicle turned onto the street. The sound grew closer, tires passing over the pavement. Relatives began moving toward the walls, making room for whoever was coming through the door.
The bell rang once.
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