Chapter 21: The Deed

Sawyer's POV

I signed the house over on Thursday, at a quarter past eight, in the back booth of the diner on Front Street.

The lawyer was an old friend of my father's. He slid the pages across the table with a pen on top and a look on his face.

"You're sure."

"Yes."

"A deed in her name alone, no survivorship, no conditions. If she sells it tomorrow, you've no claim."

"I know."

"Sawyer. The house has been in your family since 1921."

"It'll be in my daughter's family."

I signed three times. He took the pages and blew on the ink.

I had barely put the pen down when a shadow fell across the booth.

My mother stood there in her church coat, with her purse held in both hands.

I had not seen her since the sail loft.

She looked small, and I had never thought of her as small.

"Sit down," she said to the lawyer, who had begun to rise. "I won't be a minute."

He sat.

"Mother."

"I heard you came here. I want to know what you've done."

"I gave Stevie the house."

"The house," she repeated. "Your grandfather built that porch with his own hands."

"I know."

"You've lost your mind. That girl will have the deed, and she'll have your daughter, and she'll lock you out of your own door."

"If she wants to."

My mother stared at me.

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