“No,” Mr. Jenkins said, “but he can start the process. He can advertise it. He can schedule showings. He can create pressure. And if you were out of town, he might try to claim you gave verbal consent.”
I sat down heavily in my chair.
Mr. Jenkins continued, “If you are leaving for two months, that gives him opportunity. A lot can happen in 60 days.”
“I will not be leaving,” I said quietly.
There was a pause on the line.
“Margaret,” he asked, “are you safe?”
“Yes, I am safe,” I said, “but I need to move carefully.”
After I hung up, I walked through every room of my house. The living room with the brown couch Daniel spilled juice on when he was six. The hallway with pencil marks on the wall where I measured his height every year. The kitchen where we used to bake cookies.
I placed my hand on the wall and whispered, “I am not letting them take you.”
Around noon, my phone rang. It was Daniel.
“Mom, did you see the sign?” he asked cheerfully.
“Yes, I saw it.”
“Great. Right. We are just testing the market. No pressure. It might even increase the value of the neighborhood.”
Testing the market. That is what he called it.
“Daniel, I did not agree to sell.”
“Mom, you signed the access form. Remember? This is part of that.”
I stayed quiet.
“Clare thinks it would be smart to move you somewhere smaller,” he said. “Less maintenance. You deserve comfort.”
Comfort. My own bed is comfort. My own memories are comfort.
“Daniel,” I said gently, “when exactly were you planning to tell me about listing my home while I am gone for two months?”
There was silence on the other end.
“What do you mean?” he finally asked.
“I heard you last night, Daniel.”
The air changed. He did not speak for a few seconds. Then he cleared his throat.
“Mom, you must have misunderstood.”
“No,” I said. “I did not misunderstand you saying you would sell my house and disappear.”
His voice dropped lower. “You were not supposed to hear that.”
That sentence hurt more than anything else.
Not supposed to hear that? As if I were already removed from the story of my own life.
“Mom, listen,” he said quickly. “Clare and I are struggling. The business is not doing well. We have debt. A lot of debt. The house is your biggest asset. We thought if we sold it, we could pay everything off and start fresh. We would take care of you later.”
Take care of me later.
“So your plan was to make me homeless first.”
“It would not be like that.”
“Then how would it be, Daniel?”
He had no answer. His breathing grew louder.
“Mom, do not overreact,” he said. “Just go on the cruise. Enjoy yourself. Let me handle things.”
“No, Daniel,” I said. “I will handle things.”
I ended the call before he could argue more.
About an hour later, Clare showed up at my door alone. She did not smile this time.
“Margaret, we need to talk.”
