Chapter 16: The Porch

Willa's POV

Mitch came to Marge's kitchen at two in the afternoon and told me what Trent had said in the garage.

I listened with both hands around a mug.

When he got to the last line, I put the mug down.

"What did Dad leave on the porch?" I said.

"I hoped you could tell me."

"Nothing. He left the swing. He left the light."

Marge was standing at the stove with her back to us.

She had not turned around once since Mitch began.

"Marge," I said.

She turned the burner off.

Then she dried her hands on a dish towel, slowly, one finger at a time.

"Honey, sit down."

"I'm sitting."

"I thought your mother told you." She pulled out a chair and did not use it.

"I thought she told you years ago, and you chose to let it be."

"Told me what?"

"The weekend your father came home from the hospital for the last time, a lawyer came to the house."

My heart began to beat in my ears.

"They set your father up on the porch swing in a blanket, because he wanted to be outside," Marge said.

"He signed a paper."

"Whose?"

"My husband and I signed under him as witnesses. Your mother said she needed two friends."

"What paper?"

"The house, Willa. The house and the lot. He signed it over to you."

The kitchen was very quiet.

"Your mother could live there as long as she wanted," Marge said.

"He wrote a letter to go with it. She was to hold the letter until you turned thirty."

"I turn thirty in March."

"I know, honey."

"Why didn't you tell me?"