He opened his mouth.
“And the bar cabinet.”
He closed it again.
“When I sent you four thousand dollars because you said the roof was leaking over Mom’s bedroom, you told me you hired professionals.”
“I did.”
“No. You covered the stain with plaster.”
Lucas rubbed his forehead.
“You don’t understand how much responsibility we had here.”
Before I could answer, someone knocked softly.
Valerie stepped inside.
Seeing her after so many years stirred memories I wasn’t prepared for.
Before Denver, Valerie and I had been inseparable. We had grown up together, dated for years, and talked about building a life in Red Creek.
Then opportunity called me west.
Neither of us had betrayed the other. Life had simply pulled us in different directions.
But she had remained close to Mom.
She walked straight toward my mother and placed a paper bag on the table.
“Your blood pressure medicine, Miss Abigail.”
Mom gave her a grateful smile.
Then Valerie turned toward me.
“I think you need to see something.”
She handed me a metal document box.
Inside were receipts, medical reports, and hospital paperwork.
I picked up an emergency admission form.
The date was six months earlier.
I read the diagnosis twice because my mind refused to accept it the first time.
Severe malnutrition.
Hypertensive crisis.
My mother had collapsed.
She had been rushed to the hospital.
Six months earlier.
I remembered that week perfectly.
I had called Lucas from Denver.
“How’s Mom?”
“She’s just a little tired,” he had told me. “I’m handling everything. Don’t worry.”
My hands began shaking.
“Why didn’t anyone tell me?”
Valerie’s expression hardened.
“Your mother begged me not to.”
I turned toward Mom.
She looked down.
Valerie continued.
“She was terrified you would quit your job and come back here.”
My anger searched desperately for somewhere to land.
“Why didn’t you call me anyway?”
Valerie held my gaze.
“Don’t ask me why I didn’t call you, Brandon.”
The words struck harder than I expected.
“Ask yourself why, in ten years, you never checked who was actually taking your mother to the doctor.”
I stared at her.
There was no cruelty in her voice.
That made it worse.
She was right.
I had convinced myself that financial responsibility was the same thing as presence.
When Lucas said everything was fine, I believed him because believing him made it easier to remain in Denver.
I could work another late night.
Accept another promotion.
Miss another holiday.
After all, I was paying for everything.
Wasn’t I?
That excuse collapsed in front of me.
Later that evening, Mason called.
“The house is still legally yours,” he said.
Relief washed through me.
But only briefly.
“There’s more.”
I sat straighter.
“What?”
“Lucas contacted a legal aid clinic several months ago.”
My eyes moved toward the hallway.
“What about?”
“He wanted information about adverse possession and property claims based on maintenance and improvements.”
My stomach tightened.
“Maintenance on my house?”
“Yes.”
Mason paused.
“And I found something else.”
He emailed me a scanned document.
A power of attorney.
My mother’s name appeared near the bottom.
Her signature was shaky and uneven.
I brought the document to her.
“Mom, when did you sign this?”
She adjusted her glasses.
Confusion crossed her face.
“I don’t know.”
“Look carefully.”
She studied the page.
Then her eyes widened slightly.
“Lucas brought papers to me when I had that terrible fever.”
“What did he tell you they were?”
“Something for the clinic.”
My throat tightened.
“He said I needed to sign so they could manage some medical paperwork. I was dizzy. I just signed wherever he pointed.”
I found Lucas in the living room.
I placed the document in front of him.
“Were you taking care of Mom?”
He said nothing.
“Or were you preparing paperwork to take my house?”
His eyes dropped.
That silence was his confession.
The next afternoon, I called everyone to the dining room.
For the first time since returning, my mother sat at the large table.
I placed one plate in front of Lucas.
Cold canned beans.
Two stale biscuits.
A glass of water.
He stared at it.
“What is this?”
“Dinner.”
He pushed the plate away.
“Stop playing games.”
