My Fake Sister Cried on Cue, So I Billed Her for the Tissues novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Generous Deed

Constance hands Frank the deed to his building, a car and a designer bag at breakfast, and Emme prices each one and turns it down. Lydia's tearful video from the front gate is already at forty thousand views.

My father put on his funeral jacket to find out who owned his kitchen.

Constance had called at eight and invited him to breakfast at the house, "to explain everything, so nobody worries."

Frank had been worrying since the notice. He had read it nine times and set it down each time at a slightly different angle.

"It's a big house," he said in the car, holding his cap in his lap. "Do I take my boots off?"

"Wear the boots," I said. "They're the only shoes you own that can't be repossessed."

He laughed a little. It was the first time since the door.

At the house, Mason held the front door open and looked at Dad's cap, and then at Dad, and said, "Mr. Tanner. Welcome."

He meant it. I noticed that.

The breakfast room had a table for six and a window onto a lawn that was cut in stripes.

Godfrey stood up too fast and knocked his chair back. Lydia stood up slowly and held her hands together.

"Mr. Tanner," she said.

"Frank's fine," Dad said. "Or Dad, I guess, if that ever feels right. No rush."

Lydia's hands tightened. She did not say either word.

Dad looked at her for a long moment, and nobody explained why.

Constance poured the coffee and came to the point.

"Frank, we know this week has been a shock. So we've taken a small step." She slid a folder across the tablecloth. "We bought your building. You'll never have to worry about moving again."

My father stared at the folder.

[Emotional pressure detected. Expected response: tears, gratitude, lifelong indebtedness.]

Dad's jaw worked. "Mrs. Prescott, I can't take a building."

"Constance. And it's a gift."

"I'd be happy to pay rent," I said.

Everyone looked at me.

"He pays eleven hundred and fifty a month, on the first. He'll keep paying it to Prescott Holdings, same amount, same day. I'll set up the transfer."

"Emme, it's a gift," Constance said, gently.

"Then it's a gift with a receipt," I said.

[Pressure defeated. Reward: $11,000.]

Mason, at the sideboard, put a hand over his mouth and kept it there a moment.

"And there's a small something for the road," Constance said, and nodded toward the window.

In the drive sat a silver sedan with a red ribbon across the hood.

"A car," Godfrey said, pleased with it.

Dad looked at the car. He looked at me. "I have a truck."

"Your truck has a hundred and ninety thousand miles and a door that's held shut with a bungee," Constance said, laughing, kind.

"It's a good bungee," Dad said.

[Emotional pressure detected. Expected response: shame about the truck, then acceptance.]

"What's the insurance on that?" I asked.

Mason answered before he could stop himself. "Two hundred and ten a month, for a driver with Mr. Tanner's record."

"Dad has two tickets in thirty years," I said. "Two hundred and ten, plus gas, to replace a truck that carries pipe. Where does the pipe go?"

"In the trunk?" Godfrey offered.

"Eight-foot sections," Dad said, very quietly.

Mason looked at the ceiling and worked out the length of a sedan. He did not like the answer.

"The truck stays," I said. "We'll keep the car as a gift when somebody needs one."

[Pressure defeated. Reward: $3,300.]

"One more," Constance said, brightening, and lifted a glossy white box from the chair beside her. "For Emme. Open it."

Under the tissue paper was a leather bag the color of butter, with a gold clasp.

Lydia's eyes went to it. Lydia's eyes went to my old green tote hanging on the back of my chair, and then away.

"The tag says four thousand eight hundred dollars," I said.

"You don't have to look at the tag, sweetheart."

"I'm not going to put receipts in a bag that costs four months of Dad's rent," I said. "They'd feel judged."

Godfrey laughed out loud, a real one, and covered it with a cough.

[Pressure defeated. Reward: $1,950. Host's Actual Emotion: the old tote has a coffee stain shaped like Ohio and it's staying.]

I wrote the total in the notebook under the table. It was $39,450.

Dad had not touched his coffee.

Lydia sat very straight with her hands in her lap, and her eyes were dry. She was watching my father's cap, which he had folded flat on his knee.

"Mr. Tanner," she said finally, so low that only he heard. "The sedan is a lovely car."

"It is, honey," Dad said. "It really is."

Nobody at the table said anything. Constance reached for the cream.

Mason came and refilled Dad's coffee.

After breakfast I followed Mason to the front hall and asked for the transfer details for the rent.

"You're the first person who has ever turned down a house, a car and a handbag before nine," he said.

"The handbag was the hard one."

"Was it?"

"No," I said.

His mouth moved at the corner and was put away again.

My phone buzzed against my hip. Then it buzzed again.

Mason's phone had gone off too. He glanced at it, and his face changed.

He turned the screen toward me.

It was a video, shot at the front gate at dawn.

Lydia stood there in a white coat with her hair loose and her face wet, and she was saying, "I took my sister's place for twenty-four years. I'm so sorry. I'm leaving so she can have her home."

It already had forty thousand views, and the comments called me ungrateful.

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