Chapter 5: My Father's House

Kelsey came up the hall behind him with a spatula in her hand.

She was wearing my gray cardigan.

The soft cashmere one my mother gave me for my birthday, with the pearl buttons.

She'd left it unbuttoned over a tank top, sleeves pushed up to cook in.

"Oh," she said when she saw me. "Oh no."

She stepped behind Mason.

"Mason, she's not supposed to be here. My lawyer said."

"You don't have a lawyer, Kelsey," I said. "You have a planning company that got eighty-four thousand dollars yesterday."

She put her hand to her neck, right where the red marks had been in the photo.

There was nothing there now.

"Go home, Claire," Mason said.

"I am home."

I said it loud enough for the street.

I didn't plan to. It came out that way.

Next door, the lawn mower stayed off.

"This is my father's house," I said. "His life insurance was the down payment. Three hundred and ten thousand dollars. You put in nothing."

"I paid the mortgage."

"We split the mortgage. I have every statement."

Mason leaned on the doorframe.

He'd stopped pretending to be upset. He looked almost relaxed.

"Here's how it works, babe. My name is on the deed. Half of this is mine. My lawyer says I can make you sell."

"You'd sell my dad's house."

"Or you buy me out. Half the market value. Call it five hundred."

"Five hundred thousand dollars."

"You're the one who wanted a big wedding," he said. "Should've thought about money then."

Kelsey giggled behind him.

Just once, behind the spatula.

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