My Father Brought a Locksmith to Sell the Ranch I Bought
A bright yellow sticker was pasted across the left side of the envelope. It read Notice of Foreclosure Default in bold black letters.
I turned the envelope over in my gloved hands. The window of the envelope showed the recipient’s name in clear, computer-printed type. It did not say Olivia Carter. It was addressed to Evan Carter.
I stood by the gate, my thumb resting over my brother’s name. The postmark was from the regional bank branch in Craig.
I walked back to the house, the cold biting at my cheeks. The wind had started to pick up, blowing fine snow across the driveway. Inside the kitchen, the air was still cool. The small electric heater in the corner hummed as it tried to keep up with the draft from the floorboards. I set the envelope on the clean laminate table.
I pulled off my heavy work gloves and adjusted my mother’s silver watch strap, sliding the metal band up my wrist where the cold metal met my skin. The watch had been her only real possession of value, and the band was always a little too loose. I slid my index finger under the strap to hold it steady while I stared at the yellow-stickered envelope.
