The heavy silver candelabra on Beatrice’s dining table cast thin, sharp shadows across the roast pork.
“It is a specialized recipe from a butcher shop in Eugene,” Beatrice said, smoothing her linen napkin with her thumb. “Only the finest cuts for family.”
I looked across the table at Julian, who was staring down at his glass of red wine. Beside him sat Evelyn, a woman with neat gray hair and a gold real estate pin on her lapel, whom Beatrice had introduced as her closest professional associate.
“Mother has been having a difficult time with the property lately,” Beatrice said, turning her bright smile toward Evelyn. “She has become quite preoccupied with her old sedan.”
“Preoccupied?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward with a polite smile.
“I am simply tracking some unusual marks on the glass,” I said, keeping my voice low and level. “They appear every damp night.”
“It is hard to watch you worry about tiny marks when the roof needs real attention, Mother,” Julian said, his voice trailing off as he picked up his fork.
He rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth.
“Julian has so much on his mind with his own finances right now,” Beatrice said, her voice rising slightly. “With his business expansion loan deadline on October twelfth, we simply cannot afford any distractions.”
“October twelfth?” I asked.
“It is a strict deadline, Clara,” Julian said, finally looking up. “The bank does not offer extensions on commercial lines.”
“And the market is shifting quickly,” Evelyn added, setting her wine glass down with a soft click. “In this county, a delayed listing can cost tens of thousands of dollars if we miss the autumn buying window.”
“Exactly my point,” Beatrice said, her manicured nails tapping a rapid, sharp rhythm against her phone screen. “We must protect the family equity before things slip too far.”
“Nothing is slipping, Beatrice,” I said, twisting my silver wedding band around my knuckle.
“Clara, dear, you forgot where you parked your car last Thursday,” Beatrice said, her laugh high and thin as she looked at Evelyn. “Julian had to drive all the way over just to help you search.”
“I did not forget,” I said. “The keys were on the porch bench where Gary had left them after helping me with the woodpile.”
Evelyn made a small, quiet note on a pad beside her plate.
“We should move into the living room for coffee,” Beatrice said, her eyes cold as she stood up.
The living room smelled of expensive cedar wax and vanilla candles. Evelyn had excused herself to make a phone call in the hallway, leaving the three of us in the quiet space near the fireplace.
“We need to speak plainly, Clara,” Beatrice said, standing near the mantelpiece. “The neighbors are starting to talk about the state of your yard.”
“Gary is the only neighbor within half a mile,” I said. “And he is currently helping me clear the brush.”
“Gary is an elderly retired ranger who is not responsible for your safety,” Beatrice said. “You are obsessing over tiny spots on your windshield while the siding is rotting.”
“The siding is cedar,” I said. “It is meant to weather.”
“It is a public safety hazard if the local pests take over,” Beatrice said, her voice dropping its cheerful tone entirely. “We need to discuss a transition of authority before the county steps in.”
“A transition?” I asked.
