Part 3
“I’m not telling them I approved something I didn’t approve.”
Behind Ben’s voice, I could hear a loudspeaker and Caroline calling to one of the children. They were at the cruise terminal. I moved away from Rachel’s doorway so the next client could pass.
“Did you sign the application?” I asked.
“I signed it for you. I thought the authorization covered it.”
“It doesn’t.”
“That’s what they’re saying now.”
“Did you read it?”
He didn’t answer. A suitcase wheel rattled near his phone, and he said something to Caroline about going ahead. When he came back, his voice was lower.
“I was going to explain everything.”
“When?”
“Once we knew it could work.”
“Once you had a loan ready for me to sign?”
“You weren’t going to lose anything. The shop would make the payments.”
I leaned against the wall. “Why does the shop need that much money?”
He told me in pieces. Suppliers wouldn’t release materials until old invoices were paid. Customer deposits had gone toward jobs already underway, leaving too little to finish the new ones. Neal was expecting several large orders, but the work had to be completed before anyone would pay the balances.
“How much have you put in?”
“Most of what we had.”
“And the money you borrowed?”
“That too.”
“Does Neal know you’re calling it a partnership?”
“It is a partnership.”
“Then why can’t you show me the agreement?”
“Because he hasn’t finished it yet.” Ben drew a breath. “I left a job where they could replace me by Monday. I wanted something that was mine. You had a career. You knew what you were doing every morning.”
“I remember wanting that.”
“Then help me get through this.”
“You can send me the books.”
“Neal isn’t handing you his company records.”
“But he’ll take a loan against my house.”
“Our house. The one you said was going to be mine.”
I looked down at the folder I was holding. “The loan would be mine, Ben. If the shop couldn’t pay, who would the lender come to?”
He said Neal wouldn’t let that happen. I’d spent most of my working life hearing that from people who meant it, and I knew how little it could change once the money was gone.
I couldn’t tell whether Ben believed it or needed me to.
“You told them I couldn’t manage my finances,” I said.
“They asked about the power of attorney. I had to explain why I had it.”
“You could have told them I had knee surgery.”
“Dad, we’re trying to board. Can we settle this when I’m back?”
“Is this why you didn’t want me on the ship?”
He was silent long enough for me to hear the loudspeaker again.
“I didn’t want you questioning Neal all week,” he said. “Caroline didn’t either. Every dinner would have turned into this.”
“You let me pack.”
“I know. I handled that badly.”
“I’ve revoked the authorization. Anything about the application needs to go through Rachel.”
“You’re bringing a lawyer into our family?”
“I was sitting in her office when you called.”
He said my name as though he could get me to start the conversation over. I told him I was going home and ended the call. When I looked up, Rachel was standing a few feet away.
“Do you need a ride?” she asked.
“I need to sit down for a minute.”
She showed me back to the waiting room. I sat until my hands stopped trembling enough to button my jacket.
Nobody asked me to explain anything else.
That evening, Ben called from the ship. “My card’s being declined.”
I had the television on without the sound. I’d turned it on when I came home, hoping to hear someone talking, then found that I couldn’t bear the voices. I switched it off.
“Use your own card.”
“It doesn’t have room.”
“The cabins are paid for. So are the meals included in the fare.”
“You know there are other expenses.”
“You’ll have to decide which ones you can afford.”
I heard Caroline asking whether I’d answered. Ben said her parents were already on the phone with their bank, and everyone was embarrassed. I let him finish before telling him that I wasn’t restoring the card.
Afterward, I put the phone facedown and left it there. I’d paid for the vacation as a gift. I wasn’t going to recover it by taking beds or meals away from the children, but I couldn’t keep paying each time Ben said there was nothing else he could do.
Dennis knocked a little after seven with a covered dish. Patti had made stew and said there was too much for the two of them, the same explanation she’d used whenever June was too ill to cook. He brought two bowls out of my cupboard without asking.
“Evelyn called,” he said.
“Of course she did.”
“She wanted someone to see you eat.”
We sat at the small table. I told him what had happened, stopping twice because I found myself giving the sequence the way I would have given it at work. He waited through both pauses and passed me the bread.
“You going back to live in the house?” he asked eventually.
“No.”
He nodded and kept eating. He didn’t suggest a punishment or tell me what June would have wanted. When he left, I kept one bowl of stew in the refrigerator and washed the other dishes.
Later, looking for somewhere to put my empty suitcase, I opened a box marked Kitchen—Keep. June’s recipe binder was inside, wrapped in a dish towel I’d forgotten I owned. I’d brought it from the house when I moved and hadn’t opened it since.
The plastic sleeves were cloudy from use. Some recipes had been clipped from magazines; others were written on the backs of envelopes.
Beside the ginger muffins Lucy liked, June had added: smaller pieces, she picks out the big ones.
I sat on the floor with the binder across my knees. The children had still been small when June wrote that note, and I’d somehow expected her attention to remain available to them through the things she left. Most of those things were in boxes, waiting for me to decide what came next.
On Monday, I called Rachel and told her I wanted to sell the house.
She asked whether I understood that Ben’s family would have to move. I said yes, then made myself say that I understood I would miss having the children there.
“They’ll need proper notice and time,” she said. “You keep paying the expenses you’re responsible for. No changing locks or trying to make them leave while they’re away.”
I told her to prepare what was required. Late June to the end of September would give them more than three months. I wrote the deadline on my calendar and left it there while she explained the next steps.
The real estate agent, Tessa, came recommended by Rachel. She asked about the roof, the furnace, and the sewer line. I could answer those questions, and I found the maintenance records she would need when the house was ready to list.
The notice was properly served while the family was away. Rachel also sent separate letters about the revoked authorization and the loan. I paid the property insurance when it came due that week, with the notice still lying beside my checkbook.
On Wednesday, Caroline posted cruise photographs in the family message group. Lucy had her binoculars up, Owen wore a blue badge from the children’s program, and Neal stood beside Ben at the railing. I enlarged the picture until I could see Lucy’s face, then put the phone away.
Evelyn came that afternoon while a neighbor stayed with Ed. She helped me empty the suitcase: shirts still folded, gloves still joined by their plastic clip. Lucy’s itinerary was in the side pocket, a copy she’d made for me with dates above the cabin numbers.
“You kept it,” Evelyn said.
“I forgot it was there.”
She laid it on the table without smoothing the creases. “You’ll still miss those kids after you’ve done everything right.”
“I already do.”
She stayed until the neighbor called about Ed’s dinner. After she left, I slid the itinerary into the recipe binder so I would know where to find it.
The ship returned Friday morning. At noon, Ben called.
“We’re home. Caroline found the notice.” “All right.” “You’re selling the house?” “Yes.” “The house Mom lived in…”
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