Chapter 2: The Contract on My Table
“Mom, what on earth are you doing?””
Brian appeared in the living room with a fork still in his hand.
I was standing beside the Christmas tree, wrapping Henry's glass ornaments in tissue paper. Each ornament had a story. A little wooden train from our first Christmas together.
A glass snowman Sophie had made in kindergarten. A silver bell we had bought during our anniversary trip to Vermont.
Brian pointed at the open cardboard box.
“Why are you taking down the decorations? Dinner hasn't even finished.””
“Then you should get back to dinner.””
“Don't get smart with me.””
I carefully placed the snowman inside the box.
“I'm not getting smart. I'm cleaning up.””
Melissa came through the doorway, holding her phone.
“Evelyn, please tell me you're not doing this because of the seating arrangement.””
I looked at her.
“The seating arrangement?””
She gave an exasperated laugh.
“Yes. Brian explained the situation. We had an unexpected guest. It wasn't personal.””
“Then why did you tell me there was no room for another chair when I offered to get one?””
Melissa's smile faltered.
“Because the table was already set.””
“For eight people. I counted nine places, including mine.””
She glanced toward Brian.
He stepped between us.
“Enough. This is ridiculous. Put everything back.””
I lifted the small angel from the tree and wrapped it in a clean dish towel.
“No.””
His eyebrows rose.
“What did you say?””
“I said no.””
For a second, the only sound was the soft crackle of the fireplace.
Then Brian laughed.
It was a sharp, disbelieving laugh, the kind he used when a waiter brought the wrong drink.
“Mom, you're acting like a child.””
I remembered a different Christmas, twenty years earlier, when Brian had been twelve. He had broken a ceramic reindeer while helping me carry decorations downstairs. He had cried because he thought Henry would be angry.
Henry had knelt beside him and said, “Son, things can be replaced. People can't.””
Brian had buried his face in his father's shoulder.
I wondered when he had forgotten.
“I'm seventy-two years old,” I said.
“I've earned the right to decide what happens to my own Christmas decorations.””
Melissa crossed her arms.
“You're making us look terrible in front of Jason.””
“No, Melissa. I'm simply letting everyone see what's happening.””
Brian's jaw tightened.
“You know what your problem is? You can't stand not being the center of attention.””
I stopped wrapping the angel.
For the first time that evening, anger moved through me more cleanly than hurt.
“I spent twelve hours cooking for this family. I asked where I could sit in my own house. You sent me to the kitchen. Now you're upset because I'm no longer pretending that was acceptable.””
Melissa opened her mouth, but Jason appeared in the doorway.
He had left the dining table.
“Mrs. Carter,” he said, “I'm sorry. I should never have taken your chair.””
“You didn't know, Jason.””
He looked at Brian.
“There's something else I need to tell you.””
Brian's expression changed immediately.
“Not here.””
Jason frowned.
“You told me this was your house.””
“I said not here.””
“You said your mother had moved into assisted living and that you were handling the sale.””
The angel slipped slightly in my hands.
Assisted living?
I looked at my son.
“What is he talking about?””
Brian's face had gone pale, but he recovered quickly.
“Mom, Jason misunderstood. He's a potential business partner. We were discussing a property.””
“My property?””
“It's complicated.””
“Then explain it.””
Melissa hurried forward.
“Evelyn, perhaps we should sit down and discuss this privately.””
“Why? You had no problem discussing my seating arrangements in front of everyone.””
Jason reached into the leather folder he had left on the dining room sideboard. He returned with several sheets of paper clipped together.
“I came because Brian said he wanted to sell this house to me,” Jason explained.
“He told me the property would be available after Christmas.””
I took the documents from him.
The first page contained the address of my home.
My home.
The two-story house Henry and I had bought when Brian was four years old. The house where I had measured his height against the pantry door. The house where Henry had died in the upstairs bedroom, holding my hand.
Beneath the property description was a proposed purchase price.
I had to read it twice.
It was substantially below what I knew the property was worth.
Then I reached the signature page.
My full name was printed at the bottom.
Evelyn Margaret Carter.
Beneath it was a signature that looked almost exactly like mine.
Almost.
My stomach tightened.
“Brian,” I whispered, “why is my signature on this document?””
He snatched at the papers.
“Give me that.””
I pulled them away.
“No.””
“Mom, you're misunderstanding the paperwork.””
Jason shook his head.
“You told me she had signed an authorization allowing you to negotiate the sale.””
“I do have authorization.””
“From whom?”” I asked.
Brian didn't answer.
I examined the signature again. The capital E was slightly wrong. Henry had always teased me about the way I crossed the final stroke of my name. Whoever had copied it had missed that little detail.
“Did you sign this?”” I asked.
Brian rubbed his forehead.
“It's a preliminary agreement. Nothing has been finalized.””
“That wasn't my question.””
Melissa stepped closer.
“Evelyn, we were trying to help you. The house is too much for you to manage alone.””
I turned toward her.
“I managed it just fine this morning when I cooked your Christmas dinner.””
“That's not what I mean.””
“Then what do you mean?””
She looked away.
Jason carefully took the documents from my trembling hands.
“Mrs. Carter, I need to be honest with you. Brian told me you had already agreed to move out. He said the proceeds would help him settle some financial obligations, and that you were comfortable with the arrangement.””
My son stared at him.
“You said you wouldn't discuss that.””
Jason's face hardened.
“You said the sale was legitimate.””
The room seemed to tilt.
Financial obligations.
Move out.
Settle.
I thought about Brian's expensive watch, Melissa's designer handbag, and the new luxury SUV parked in my driveway.
I thought about the calls Brian had made asking whether I still kept important papers in the desk in Henry's old study.
I had assumed he was checking on my insurance and utility bills.
Now I wondered what else he had been checking.
“Brian,” I said slowly, “have you been planning to sell my house without my permission?””
He lowered his voice.
“Mom, please. We can work this out.””
“Have you?””
He looked toward the dining room, where the rest of our family sat in uneasy silence.
Then he leaned close enough that only I could hear him.
“You need to be careful. You don't understand how much trouble you're creating for yourself.””
I stared at him.
For one terrible second, I saw a stranger wearing my son's face.
Then Jason spoke behind us.
“Brian, there's one more thing. The buyer's attorney asked me to bring the original authorization tonight.””
May you like
He opened his folder again.
“And I have a copy of the document you told me not to show your mother.””
