“What are you doing here?”
“Christmas.”
I stared at her.
She lifted one bag.
“Breakfast.”
Then the other.
“And champagne.”
I laughed.
“You hate champagne.”
“Yes, but leaving your son speechless on Christmas deserves something festive.”
“Linda.”
“What?”
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
She looked around.
Then smiled.
“So this is it.”
“This is it.”
“I love it.”
“You're biased.”
“No. Your old house was beautiful.”
She removed her coat.
“This one feels like you.”
That nearly made me cry.
We ate scrambled eggs and toast at my little table.
Then Linda asked the question I knew was coming.
“What happens to the old house?”
I put down my coffee.
“That depends.”
“On Daniel?”
“No.”
She waited.
“On me.”
Linda slowly smiled.
“What haven't you told me?”
I looked toward Robert's photograph.
“More than Daniel knows.”
The truth was complicated.
After Robert died, the family house had remained entirely mine.
Five years later, Daniel convinced me to add him to certain estate-planning documents.
Not the deed.
Never the deed.
Robert had been very clear about that.
Daniel apparently misunderstood.
Or perhaps Melissa did.
Either way, somewhere along the years, they began behaving as though eventual inheritance meant present ownership.
They had moved into the house eight months earlier after selling their townhouse.
The arrangement was supposed to last six months.
They were supposed to save money.
Instead, Melissa redecorated.
