Three Suitcases Left in the Rain and Nineteen Million Dollars in Cancun
“We have to be practical about the space now, Mom,” Nathan said, his sentence trailing off into a quiet whisper.
“This is the house you grew up in,” I said.
“Sable needs a proper home office for her new consulting business,” he said, staring at the floor. “We need your bedroom.”
He did not wait for my answer. He took his car keys off the kitchen island and walked toward the back door.
I followed him out to the porch, needing the cool Texas air to clear the tightness in my throat.
The heavy wood of the door swung shut behind me before I could step back inside.
The click of the front door lock sounded sharp and final in the quiet afternoon.
By nine the next morning, I was sitting on the edge of the mattress in the small guest room at the end of the hall, unpacking my small leather notebook from my purse. The notebook had a black cover, slightly scuffed at the corners, and several pages were filled with Gordon’s neat, slanted handwriting detailing past household repairs. The guest room was drafty, and the lavender scent of the linen spray could not hide the thin layer of dust on the cherry headboard. I rubbed my gold wedding band, feeling the familiar notch in the metal where it had caught on a garden gate twenty years ago.
