He had suggested that if Mom wanted to talk, I should ask for a neutral place and bring someone I trusted.
I looked at the office building where Mom worked. Through the glass doors, I could see people moving between desks. She had probably stepped into a conference room to call me.
“Tomorrow,” I said. “At Grandma’s house.”
Her voice tightened. “You’re selling it?”
“I haven’t decided.”
“You can’t just take everything from me.”
“I’m not taking anything from you.”
“Your grandmother left that house to me.”
My stomach dropped.
“What did you say?”
Mom caught herself.
For a moment, she said nothing.
Then she spoke more carefully. “She told me she wanted us to discuss it.”
“Grandma’s will leaves the house to me.”
“I know what the will says.”
“How?”
“I was there when she signed some of the papers.”
“You were?”
“Yes.”
I felt the ground beneath the conversation shift.
Grandma had never told me Mom was present when she updated her will.
Mr. Ellis had handled the paperwork. He had said Grandma wanted everything straightforward, with no room for arguments. The house, the savings, and her personal belongings were listed in the documents I had seen after the funeral.
Mom was not named as a beneficiary.
But now she was saying she had been there.
“What papers did you sign?” I asked.
“I didn’t sign anything.”
“Then what do you mean?”
“I mean I was there.”
“When?”
“Before she got really sick.”
“That doesn’t answer the question.”
“I’m not discussing this over the phone.”
“Tomorrow,” I repeated. “At ten. The house.”
“And bring your lawyer?”
“If you want to talk about legal documents, yes.”
“You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t know how to trust you.”
The words came out softly, but they seemed to reach her.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Mom said, “I never wanted things to turn out this way.”
I looked through the windshield at the gray sky.
“I did,” I said. “I wanted you to come back.”
She ended the call.
I stayed in the car long after the screen went dark.
That night, I barely slept.
Every time I closed my eyes, memories surfaced in fragments.
Mom leaving with one suitcase.
Grandma standing in the doorway, holding my hand.
The first time I asked whether Mom was coming back.
