“My mother is only looking out for Melissa,” he muttered, his voice trailing off as he reached for the doorknob. “We all have to make adjustments.”
“Adjustments do not include giving away the house I pay for,” I said.
He did not look at the yellow legal pad on the counter. He did not look at me.
“I have to go,” he said, turning back toward the hallway.
He turned toward the hall, his rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the hardwood. I followed him out of the kitchen, leaving Diane alone with the yellow legal pad and her green notepad.
In the narrow hallway near the coat closet, the scent of damp oak leaves clung to his wool jacket. I reached into my cardigan pocket and pulled out the spare brass house key I had found under the rug on the back porch earlier.
“Why are you staying silent?” I asked, holding the brass key between us. “You know exactly what my salary covers.”
He reached for his light jacket on the wooden peg, his eyes darting to the floor, then to the brass key, then back to his phone.
