Chapter 15: The Notary

Timothy's POV

The black SUV was back in the drive in twenty minutes.

I met it on the front porch with the porch light on and my father's key in my fist.

Dean got out first, still cradling his wrist.

The two men got out behind him, unhurried.

"Timothy," Dean said, in his good-brother voice. "Come on, man. Let us in. It's cold."

"No."

"We just want to talk to Mom."

"Then talk to her from the lawn."

The older man with the gold watch looked me over.

"You told us you were the owner," he said. "Do you have a paper?"

"I have a will, a letter and a forged deed with my name on it."

"Then you have a lawsuit. That's not a paper that opens a door."

"It opens this one," I said. "Because it's mine, and you're not coming in."

I hadn't known I would say it that flat.

I'd spent thirty-five years saying yes to the people on the other side of that door.

Behind me, I heard Meredith come down the hall and stop at my shoulder.

She didn't touch me.

She just stood there, which was worse and better.

"You have until Friday," she told the older man. "You'll get an answer then. Not tonight."

"Mrs. Slade, your husband gave us his word."

"My husband doesn't own what he gave you."

The man took a long look at Dean.

Dean looked at his shoes.

"Friday," the older man said, and they left.

Dean stayed one second longer on the lawn, looking up at me.

"You think you won," he said. "Mom'll never let you keep it."

"Go home, Dean."

"I'm trying to," he said, and his voice cracked.

I almost felt sorry for him.

Then I remembered the fifteen pencil marks on the pantry door and the eighteen beside them, and I shut the door.

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