Everyone Called Me His Girl, but He Said It Was Nothing novel · Chapter 2 of 24

Chapter 2: The Deed

Rhea goes to pack and finds the condo and her father's $140,000 are in Gavin's name alone, then walks out on Adele, and a stranger in the elevator knows her father's name.

I slept on my friend's couch with my coat over me.

She worked nights at the hospital with me and had a spare blanket and no questions.

At six fifty-five my phone lit up on the coffee table.

Adele: "Rhea, dear, I'm up. Where's my tea?"

At seven oh two she wrote again.

"Rhea?"

I turned the phone face down and watched the ceiling.

For five years I had been at her door by seven with the white tea and a plain biscuit.

My body still tried to get up.

"You don't have to go anywhere," my friend said from the kitchen.

"I have to get my things," I said.

"Gavin goes to the gym at eight on Saturdays."

"He'll be gone until ten."

"Then take a bag," she said.

"And take the box."

She meant my father's toolbox.

It lived in the hall closet of the condo, because Gavin said it spoiled the look of the bedroom.

I let myself in with my key at eight twenty.

The place was quiet and bright, with cream walls and a long grey sofa I had picked out myself.

I had been proud of it.

I packed a duffel bag first.

Work clothes, my good boots, my mother's brooch, the blue notebook where I kept Adele's diet.

Then I stood in front of Gavin's study, because there was something I had never done in four years.

I wanted to see my own name on this home.

The closing folder was in the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet, right where he'd said it was.

I sat on the floor and turned the pages.

The deed named one owner.

Gavin T. Ames.

The mortgage named one borrower.

Gavin T. Ames.

Near the back there was a sheet headed "Source of Funds."

One line was highlighted.

"R. Dunning, $140,000.00, gift."

I knew that signature.

It was mine.

I had signed it at a conference table four years ago while Adele's lawyer slid pages across to me and said it was only for the bank.

I had signed beside my father's life insurance.

It was every cent he'd left me.

A gift.

My hands went cold, and the page shook.

The front door opened.

"Rhea?"

Gavin stood in the study doorway in his gym clothes with a towel around his neck.

He saw the folder.

He saw my duffel bag by the door.

"You came back," he said, and he looked relieved.

"I came for my things."

"Come on."

"What is this?" I said, and held up the sheet.

He glanced at it and gave a small shrug.

"That's the paperwork, Rhea."

"It's the same money."

"We live here together."

"It's ours."

"It says gift."

"It's a form," he said.

"We'll sort it out."

"When?"

"When things calm down."

"Mom's upset, you're upset, let's not start counting."

"Counting," I said.

He sighed.

"You know I'd never leave you short."

The front door opened again.

Adele came in with her driver behind her carrying a paper bag from the bakery on Hope Street.

She wore her cream cardigan and her pearls, and she looked tired.

"There you are, dear," she said to me.

"I waited and waited."

"I was starting to think something had happened."

I stood up with the folder against my chest.

"Did you eat?" I asked her.

I was ashamed of how quickly the question came out.

"A little toast."

"It sat badly."

"It would," I said.

"You need the tea first."

I opened the pantry, took down the tin of white tea I had bought on Thursday, and set it on the counter beside her kettle.

Then I put the closing folder in my duffel bag, next to the blue notebook.

"Rhea," Gavin said.

"That's not yours to take."

"It's my signature," I said.

"I'm taking a copy of every page."

Adele watched my hands.

"We'll speak when you've rested," she said gently.

"You've had a shock."

"You were all so happy to call me family at dinner," I said.

"Have a good birthday week, Adele."

I got my father's toolbox out of the hall closet.

It was heavy and old, with his initials burned into the lid.

Gavin followed me to the door.

"Rhea, you're being childish."

"I know," I said.

I carried the box out and shut the door on his face.

The elevator took a long time.

When the doors opened a man stood inside, tall, with a canvas jacket and sawdust on his boots, holding a set of keys.

He looked at the toolbox, then at the initials, then at me.

He had a broken nose and a quiet, tired face.

"That's Frank Dunning's box," he said.

I stared.

"You're Frank Dunning's girl."

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