“You can stay in the cottage tonight,” Amber offered.
“The sheets are clean.”
“I will stay in my own bedroom.”
“We use that room now,” she said.
“Ethan’s crib is in the corner.”
I walked down the hall without answering.
The master bedroom door was open.
My quilt was gone.
A smaller bed with dinosaur sheets stood against the wall where my reading chair had been.
The chair itself was stacked with folded laundry.
I stood in the doorway and felt the years of quiet mornings disappear.
David appeared behind me.
“We can move things back,” he said quietly.
“If you want.”
“I want my house,” I said.
“I want my papers.”
“And I want you to tell me exactly what you signed.”
He was silent for a long moment.
“There is a buyer,” he said at last.
“Amber’s friend knows someone who wants a cliff house.”
“They made an offer last month.”
The rain grew louder against the roof.
“You were going to sell it,” I said.
“While I was gone.”
“We were going to talk to you when you got back,” he answered.
“The offer is good.”
“It would pay off the condo.”
“It would give us a fresh start.”
“With my house.”
“It is still in the LLC,” he said.
“Technically.”
“Technically I own the LLC.”
“And you own the house.”
Amber called from the kitchen.
“David Ethan needs a bath.”
He hesitated then turned away.
I remained in the doorway of the room that was no longer mine.
Ethan came down the hall in his pajamas and stopped when he saw me.
“Are you sleeping here?” he asked.
“I don’t know yet,” I said.
“I want you to,” he whispered.
Amber appeared and took his hand.
“Bedtime,” she said.
“Say good night.”
He waved once and let her lead him away.
I walked back to the living room and sat on the edge of the sofa I had reupholstered myself.
The banner still hung above the fireplace.
HAPPY BIRTHDAY ETHAN.
The candles had been thrown away but the smell of wax lingered.
I opened my phone even though I knew there was no signal strong enough for a call.
I typed a message to my attorney anyway and watched it fail to send.
Outside the terrace lights flickered as the wind pushed rain against the glass.
David returned with two cups of coffee.
He set one in front of me.
“I didn’t know she changed the safe,” he said.
“I thought she only moved the papers.”
“You thought.”
“I was working,” he said.
“The condo renovations ran over.”
“She handled the house.”
“She handled everything.”
I wrapped my hands around the mug.
“Tomorrow we open the storage unit,” I said.
“And then we call the attorney together.”
“And if the papers are not there?”
“Then we call the police.”
He flinched.
“Mom don’t do that.”
“She is Ethan’s mother.”
“She is also the person who emptied my closet and changed my locks.”
“The biometric still works,” he said.
“Your thumbprint still opens the front door.”
“Then why was the door unlocked when I arrived?”
“Because we were having a party.”
“Because you expected me to stay away.”
He did not deny it.
We sat without speaking while the rain turned heavier.
Somewhere down the hall Amber was singing to Ethan in a low voice.
The song was one I used to sing.
I recognized the melody and felt the words stick in my throat.
“I will sleep on the sofa,” I said.
“You don’t have to,” David answered.
“I do.”
He nodded and left the cup on the table.
When the lights went out in the rest of the house I remained awake.
The fog pressed against the windows and the cedar creaked the way it always had.
I listened to the familiar sounds and tried to remember which ones still belonged to me.
At three in the morning I heard the terrace door slide open.
I sat up.
Amber stood outside in a raincoat holding a flashlight.
She was walking toward the seawall.
I watched her stop at the edge and shine the light down at the rocks.
She stayed there for several minutes then turned and came back inside.
She did not see me on the sofa.
She locked the terrace door and disappeared down the hall.
I waited until her footsteps faded then rose and checked the door.
The lock was the same one I had installed.
My thumbprint still worked.
I opened it quietly and stepped onto the wet stones.
The flashlight beam had pointed at a particular rock below the wall.
I leaned over and saw a plastic bag wedged between two stones.
Rain ran down my neck as I reached for it.
Inside the bag was a manila envelope.
I carried it back inside and opened it under the kitchen light.
The first page was a quitclaim deed.
My name was typed at the top.
A signature that looked like mine appeared at the bottom.
The date was six weeks earlier.
The second page was an LLC resolution authorizing the sale of the property.
David’s signature was real.
Mine was not.
I folded the pages and returned them to the envelope.
Then I hid the envelope under the sofa cushion and lay back down.
The rain continued until dawn.
When the sky lightened I was still awake and the envelope was still beneath me.
David appeared in the kitchen at seven.
“The storage unit opens at eight,” he said.
“We should leave soon.”
“I already know what is in the unit,” I answered.
“Or what is not.”
He stopped pouring coffee.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean we are not going to the storage unit,” I said.
“We are going to my attorney.”
“And we are taking the papers Amber hid under the seawall.”
His face changed.
“You went outside.”
“I live here,” I said.
“I can go outside.”
Amber entered wearing the same calm expression.
“What papers?” she asked.
