The Home She Built With Someone Else novel · Chapter 1 of 24
Chapter 1: The Buyer's Name
At the condo sales gallery the agent has already printed the buyer's name, and it is Nigel's. Nathan walks out and buys a one-way ticket, and at the gate learns the shared design folder was renamed for Nigel three weeks ago.
The sales agent had already printed the buyer's name on the contract, and it was not mine.
I read it twice at the glass table in the condo sales gallery.
BUYER: Nigel Clery.
"That's a typo," I said. "Fix it and we'll sign."
The agent looked at Justine instead of me.
Justine was in the chair beside mine, one hand on my knee, and she did not look surprised.
"It's not a typo, Nate," she said. "It's just paper. Let me explain."
Across the table Nigel had his phone propped against a water glass and his jacket over the back of his chair.
He had come along, he'd said, because he wanted to see the place I'd talked about for six months.
Unit 4C. Two bedrooms, third floor, nine hundred thirty thousand dollars.
I knew every wall of it from the floor plan pinned above my desk.
The second bedroom was supposed to be my studio.
"Nigel's credit is cleaner," Justine said. "The bank loves him. If the loan is in his name, we get the rate."
"Whose name is on the deed?" I asked.
"His. For now."
"And mine?"
"In two years we move it over. Nothing changes. You'd have the second room, same as the plan."
She smiled at me, the soft one she used on investors.
"You gave notice on your apartment, right? Just rent from Nigel until then. He said twenty-one hundred a month."
"Market," Nigel said. "I'd never charge my best friend more than market."
My savings were in the account Justine had opened for the house, one hundred eighty-six thousand dollars, five years of my paychecks.
It was in her name because her business bank gave better rates, and I had never asked to be added.
I had never needed to.
"Where's the down payment?" I asked the agent.
"Already in escrow," she said. "Ms. Corliss wired it Thursday."
Thursday night, Justine had kissed my forehead and told me the wire would go out Monday, after we all signed together.
I looked at her.
"Thursday was a good day for the rate," she said, and patted my knee.
Nigel's phone buzzed against the glass.
He turned it toward the agent, grinning. "Posted it. Watch my likes."
On his screen was a photo of the door to 4C, and under it his caption: Home sweet home.
The first comment had arrived while I was reading.
It was from Justine. "Can't wait to cook in this kitchen!"
She had typed it on her phone under the table with one hand, while the other patted my knee.
The agent studied the carpet.
"Can we take out the closet wall in the second bedroom?" Nigel asked her. "I need space for a big screen."
"My drawing has the closet there," I said. "It carries the shelf run."
"Your drawing." Nigel laughed. "Nate, it's a closet."
He checked his watch.
"Let's not take all day. I'm on the one-forty to Chicago. Client I can't lose. First weekend of every month, you know the drill."
I did know the drill.
I had driven him to the airport for it a dozen times.
"Sign here, here and here," the agent said, and slid the pen across to Nigel.
Justine leaned in. Her voice went low.
"Nate. Please don't make this a scene. I've handled everything. When have I ever let you down?"
Five years ago I had left a federal job and an apartment in Washington.
I had moved across the country because Justine said her company needed me and our house would need me after.
I stood up.
"I'm not signing anything," I said. "And you're not either, Nigel. That's my money."
"It's in Justine's account," Nigel said. "It's Justine's money."
"It's five years of my paychecks."
"And we're grateful," Justine said. "Nobody's taking anything."
"Then put my name on the deed."
"The wire's gone, Nate. The buyer's set. You can't."
That was the sentence I had been waiting for, though I hadn't known it.
I took my apartment key off my ring and set it on the glass.
I had given notice a month ago because Justine said we'd move in the first. My lease had ended at nine that morning.
Everything I owned was in the back of my car in two duffel bags and four boxes.
"You'll rent from us," Justine said, and now her voice was tight. "You've got nowhere else."
"I do," I said. "My mother's kitchen."
Nigel shook his head at me, smiling.
"Don't be dramatic, man. You'll be back by Monday. You always are."
So I walked out.
In the car I bought a one-way ticket to Pittsburgh on my phone. Departure at 6:10.
At the gate I opened the Hearthline shared drive to copy my files while I still had the password.
The folder I had built the unit plans in was called Nathan B. Design. I had named it myself, five years before.
Now it was called Nigel H. Lead.
The change was dated three weeks ago.
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