Chapter 2 - THE DEED AND THE DECEIT
The silence in the hallway was thick,
heavy with the scent of cheap nail polish and stolen wine.
I stood my ground,
refusing to drop my bag,
refusing to let them see the tears that wanted to spill from my eyes.
"Matthew,"
I said,
my voice dropping to a low,
hard register.
"Look at me."
He slowly raised his chin,
his eyes red and watery,
the face of a boy who knew he had committed a terrible sin but was too weak to undo it.
"Is this true?"
I asked.
"Did you tell her this house belongs to you?"
"No,"
he stammered,
looking quickly at Jessica for rescue.
"Not exactly,
Mom,
we just,
we lost the apartment."
"We didn't lose it,"
Jessica interrupted,
her voice sharp as glass.
"We sold it to pay off your stupid debts,
Matthew,
and you promised me we would have a real house to live in."
She turned her glare to me,
crossing her arms over my silk robe.
"We need this place,
Margaret,
you are seventy-two,
you don't need all this space."
"You have your sister's place,"
she continued,
"or you can find a nice little senior home."
My hands began to shake,
not from fear,
but from a deep,
primal fury.
"A senior home?"
I repeated,
each word tasting like ash.
"I bought this house before you were even a thought in your mother's mind,
Jessica."
"Every nail,
every board,
every blade of grass was paid for by me."
"My husband died in that bedroom,
and I will die in this house."
"Get out."
Jessica didn't flinch;
instead,
she stepped closer,
her eyes narrowing into slits.
"We aren't going anywhere,"
she said,
her voice dripping with malice.
"Matthew signed papers,
didn't you,
babe?"
I looked back at Matthew,
who looked as if he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.
"What papers,
Matthew?"
I demanded,
stepping toward him.
"What did you sign?"
"Nothing!"
he cried out,
his voice cracking.
"It was just a residency agreement,
Mom,
so we could register the car here."
"He's lying to you,"
Jessica smirked,
walking back toward my bedroom.
"We live here now,
Margaret,
you can't just throw us out on the street."
"It's the law,
we have rights."
She shut my bedroom door with a loud,
defiant slam,
leaving me alone in the hallway with my silent,
cowardly son.
The red polish she had been applying had left a small,
bloody-looking smudge on the doorframe.
I stared at that red mark,
feeling as if my own home had been wounded,
stabbed by the people I should have been able to trust.
"Mom,"
Matthew whispered,
reaching out a hand.
"Don't touch me,"
I said,
pulling away with a coldness I didn't know I possessed.
"You have twenty-four hours to get her,
May you like
and your things,
out of my sight."
