Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“Thank you, Frank,” I said.
I walked out of the office and took a taxi back to River Oaks, the gray autumn clouds hanging low and heavy over the city.
The driveway was wet from the morning mist when I arrived at five o’clock. Nathan was standing near the open garage door, his hands jammed deep into his trousers pockets as he looked down at a heavy cardboard box of tools on the concrete. The smell of damp motor oil and wet leaves was thick in the air.
“Did you find what you were looking for at the lawyer’s office, Mom?” Nathan asked, his voice trailing off at the end of the sentence.
“Frank is just finalizing some paperwork, Nathan,” I said, stopping a few feet from him on the wet pavement.
“Sable is upset,” he said, lifting the heavy box of tools with a grunt, his face flushing with the effort. “She says you are making things difficult by not signing the quitclaim deed.”
“This is my home, Nathan,” I said, my hand going to my wedding ring. “Your father built this house for us.”
