Marine Returns From Okinawa to Find Her Bungalow Already Sold
“So you gave away my house?” I asked. “You let a criminal pocket twenty-four thousand dollars of Emily’s money?”
“He owed eleven thousand dollars to the guys at the marina,” Arthur said, his defensive voice rising. “They were going to break his hands, Maria. You think I was going to let that happen?”
“The power of attorney was expired,” I said. “You forged the date.”
My father stepped toward me, his chest rising.
“You chose the military over us, Maria, so do not come back here acting like you own this place,” he said.
The words hung in the narrow kitchen, heavy and sharp. I adjusted my uniform collar, the starched fabric suddenly feeling too tight.
“I earned that house,” I said.
“You earned a paycheck,” he said. “And you left your family to struggle while you played soldier overseas. We are your blood, Maria. Not some officers in uniform.”
“Blood does not steal from blood,” I said.
“You are destroying this family over a piece of dirt,” he said. He pointed his finger toward the screen door. “You are not welcome in this house anymore. Get out.”
