The days leading up to September twenty-sixth passed slowly.
I tried not to count them.
Every morning, I made coffee and checked the weather.
Every evening, I looked at the calendar.
I knew Cullen and Blythe were still in Hawaii.
Their photographs continued appearing online.
There were pictures of beaches, expensive dinners, and drinks beside swimming pools.
They looked happy.
I wondered whether Cullen ever thought about the situation waiting for him when he returned.
Or whether he believed I would eventually change my mind.
On Monday morning, I received a message from him.
"Mom, I hope you've had time to think about everything."
I read it twice.
Then another message arrived.
"We don't want this to become a permanent problem between us."
I sat at the kitchen table.
There was something almost reasonable about the way he phrased it.
But he still hadn't apologized.
He hadn't acknowledged that he had married without inviting me.
He hadn't explained why he believed my house belonged to him.
And he hadn't mentioned the opened envelope.
I typed a response.
"I hope you've enjoyed your honeymoon. We can discuss everything when you return."
I sent it.
He replied almost immediately.
"Good. I knew you'd come around."
I stared at those words.
Come around.
He still believed this was simply a disagreement that would disappear once I calmed down.
I put my phone away.
That afternoon, Richard called.
He had reviewed the property records once more.
Everything was consistent.
My name remained on the ownership documents.
There was no completed transfer.
No recorded deed giving Cullen ownership.
I felt relieved.
But Richard sounded cautious.
"Eleanor, I want you to understand something."
"What is it?"
"If someone has been telling people that a transfer occurred, we need to find out what document they were referring to."
I looked toward the drawer.
"The envelope?"
"Possibly."
"Could someone have copied it?"
"It's possible. We should establish what was accessed and when."
I told him I understood.
He also reminded me not to give anyone the original documents.
I thanked him.
After the call, I walked to the beach house.
I wanted to check the property again.
The blue front door looked beautiful in the afternoon light.
I unlocked it and stepped inside.
Everything was quiet.
I went straight to the hallway cabinet.
The drawer containing the cream-colored envelope was closed.
I opened it.
The folder was still there.
I checked the handwritten note.
It was untouched.
I carefully closed the drawer.
Then I noticed something on the dining table.
A small piece of paper.
I hadn't left it there.
It was a printed list of household measurements.
Living room.
Dining area.
Main bedroom.
Guest bedroom.
At the bottom were two initials.
C.B.
Cullen and Blythe.
I held the paper.
The measurements were dated June.
The same month Miles had mentioned.
I looked around the room.
Suddenly, the furniture measurements seemed less innocent.
Perhaps they had been planning the move for months.
Perhaps the wedding was not the beginning of their plans.
Perhaps it was simply the moment they intended to make everything official.
I folded the paper and placed it in the folder.
I wasn't going to accuse anyone without evidence.
But I wasn't going to ignore what I had found either.
On Tuesday, I received another call.
This time, it was from Margaret.
"Eleanor, have you heard anything from Laurelai?"
"No. Why?"
"She called someone I know about the celebration."
I sat down.
"What did she say?"
Margaret explained that Laurelai had been asking about decorations.
She wanted white flowers near the entrance.
She wanted the guests seated facing the porch.
She had also asked whether there was enough room for a small table where the keys could be displayed.
I stared at the wall.
"The keys?"
"That's what my friend said."
I felt my fingers tighten.
A table for the keys.
They were not even pretending this was a simple welcome-home gathering anymore.
Margaret sounded uncomfortable.
"I thought you should know."
"Thank you for telling me."
After we ended the call, I sat quietly.
I imagined Laurelai arranging flowers on my porch.
I imagined a small table covered with a white cloth.
And perhaps a little decorative box containing a set of keys.
I wondered whether they expected me to stand there while everyone watched.
The thought made me uncomfortable.
But I didn't change my decision.
That evening, I opened Nile's handwritten note again.
I read the first paragraph.
Then the second.
His words were simple.
He had never been a man who needed complicated language to explain something important.
He wrote about Cullen's future.
He wrote about responsibility.
He wrote about the meaning of home.
I folded the paper.
I had intended to give it to Cullen as part of a special wedding gift.
Now I wasn't sure he was ready to receive it.
On Wednesday morning, I received a message from Blythe.
It was longer than the previous ones.
She said she hoped I understood how difficult the situation had become.
She mentioned that her parents had already spent money organizing the celebration.
She said several guests were traveling from other towns.
Then she wrote something that made me stop reading.
"Cullen has always told me his father wanted him to have that house."
I read the sentence again.
I knew Nile had loved our son.
I knew he had wanted Cullen to have a good life.
But I had never heard Nile promise the beach house to him.
I typed a reply.
"Your husband and I need to discuss what his father actually said."
She didn't answer.
A few hours later, Cullen called.
I answered.
"Hello."
"Mom, Blythe told me what you said."
"All right."
"Why are you bringing Dad into this?"
I looked toward the photograph on the mantel.
"Because you keep saying he wanted you to have the house."
"He did."
"Did he tell you that?"
There was a pause.
"Not directly."
I waited.
Cullen continued.
"He said it would stay in the family."
I closed my eyes.
"It has stayed in the family."
"Then what's the problem?"
I took a slow breath.
"The problem is that staying in the family does not mean you automatically own it."
He became irritated.
"Mom, I don't understand why you're doing this."
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I asked:
"Have you ever read your father's handwritten note?"
Silence.
"No."
"Do you know what he wrote?"
"No."
"Then perhaps you should wait until you understand his wishes before speaking for him."
Cullen exhaled.
"Fine. We'll talk when we get back."
The call ended.
I placed the phone down.
For the first time, I wondered whether Cullen had misunderstood something Nile said years ago.
Perhaps he had taken a casual comment and turned it into a promise.
Perhaps someone had repeated it until it became a certainty.
I didn't know.
But I knew the truth was inside that cream-colored envelope and the note beside it.
And I was going to make sure those words were understood.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: I Found Another Clue From June, and It Explained Why Cullen Had Been So Certain That My Beach House Was Already His
My Only Son Called to Announce His Wedding, but One Casual Sentence Made Me Realize I Was No Longer Welcome in His Life
Part 9 of 20
