been arriving.
It just wasn’t necessarily reaching my parents.
“And the house?”
Dad’s expression hardened slightly.
“Still ours.”
“You’re sure?”
“Inez will confirm it.”
“No,” he said. “I mean I’m sure.”
He reached beneath his bed and pulled out a rectangular tin box.
Inside were old property-tax receipts, insurance documents, photographs, and several yellowed envelopes.
“The deed Derek knows about is in the filing cabinet,” Dad said. “A copy.”
“And the original?”
Dad lifted the rusty key.
I looked at it again.
“What does that have to do with the
