The next morning, I woke up before sunrise.
I couldn't sleep well anymore.
Every time I closed my eyes, I thought about September twenty-sixth.
I wondered whether Cullen would arrive angry.
I wondered whether Blythe would refuse to speak to me.
And I wondered how many people would stand on my porch expecting me to hand over something that had never belonged to them.
I made coffee.
Then I sat beside the kitchen window.
Nile's photograph was on the table.
I had moved it there the previous evening because I wanted to look at it.
He was wearing his old fishing shirt.
His hair was slightly messy.
And he was smiling at whoever had taken the picture.
I touched the wooden frame.
"I wish you could help me understand him."
I knew I couldn't change what had happened.
But I still wanted to understand how my son had reached this point.
Around ten, my phone rang.
It was Cullen.
I answered.
"Good morning, sweetheart."
"Mom, are you busy?"
"Not particularly."
"I need to talk to you about Dad."
I sat straighter.
"What about him?"
There was a pause.
Then Cullen said something I hadn't expected.
"I remember what he told me about the beach house."
I looked toward the window.
"All right."
"He said one day it would be mine."
I closed my eyes.
"When did he say that?"
"When we were working on the porch. I was probably twenty-six or twenty-seven."
I remembered that summer.
Cullen had been helping Nile replace some damaged boards.
He had complained about the work.
He had also asked several questions about the property.
Nile had been patient with him.
"What exactly did your father say?" I asked.
Cullen sighed.
"He said the house would stay in the family. He said I should take care of it when the time came."
I listened.
Then I asked:
"Did he say you could move in whenever you wanted?"
"No."
"Did he tell you he had transferred ownership?"
"No."
"Did he give you the keys?"
Cullen became irritated.
"Mom, why are you questioning every word?"
"Because you're telling people something different from what I remember."
He was silent.
Then he said:
"Maybe you don't remember everything."
Those words hurt.
Not because I thought my memory was perfect.
But because he was using his father's absence to support a decision he had made without me.
I took a slow breath.
"Cullen, your father loved you very much."
"I know."
"He wanted you to have a good life."
"I know that too."
"But he also believed people should respect what they were given."
I heard him exhale.
"Here we go again."
I didn't respond.
He continued.
"I don't understand why you're acting like I'm trying to steal something."
I looked at the cream-colored envelope inside the drawer.
"Because you have been telling people the house is yours."
"I thought it was."
"Based on what?"
He didn't answer.
Then he said:
"Based on what you and Dad always said."
I remained quiet.
Finally, I asked him whether he had ever seen the document I had prepared earlier in the year.
He hesitated.
"Which document?"
"The one in the cream-colored envelope."
There was a long silence.
Then he answered.
"I saw something like that."
My fingers tightened around the phone.
"Where?"
"In the hallway."
"When?"
"Back in June."
I looked toward the hallway.
"What did you see?"
He sounded uncomfortable.
"I don't remember every detail."
I waited.
Then he said:
"It was a document with your name on it. There was something about the beach house."
"Did you read it?"
"Not completely."
"Did you open it?"
He became quiet.
Then he said:
"I might have looked at it."
I felt my stomach tighten.
"Was that when you were visiting the house?"
"Mom, I don't want to argue about this."
I didn't raise my voice.
"I am asking you a question."
He sighed.
"Yes. I saw it when I was there."
I sat perfectly still.
The envelope.
The measurements.
The June announcement.
The things that had seemed unrelated were beginning to form a picture.
I asked him whether he had told Miles that the property transfer was complete.
He said he had.
"Why?"
"Because I believed it was."
"But you just told me you hadn't read the document."
He didn't answer.
I could hear someone speaking in the background.
Blythe, perhaps.
Then Cullen said:
"I have to go."
"Cullen."
"What?"
"I want you to understand something. Seeing a document with my name on it does not mean you own my property."
He ended the call.
I put my phone down.
For several minutes, I didn't move.
I had wanted him to explain.
Instead, I had learned that he had seen the envelope.
He had been inside the house.
He had known where I kept important documents.
And he had apparently turned whatever he saw into a promise.
That afternoon, I called Richard.
I told him about the conversation.
He listened carefully.
Then he asked whether Cullen had admitted opening the envelope.
I told him Cullen had not been completely clear.
Richard advised me to keep a written record of the conversation.
I did.
I wrote down the date.
The time.
The exact questions I had asked.
And the answers Cullen had given.
I placed the note inside the folder.
Later that evening, I returned to the beach house.
I opened the front door.
The house smelled clean.
The windows were closed.
Everything was quiet.
I walked to the living room and looked at the mantel.
Nile's photograph was still there.
I picked it up.
I remembered something else from that summer.
Cullen had been sitting on the porch with his father.
He had asked whether the house was worth much money.
Nile had laughed.
He told him that the house was worth whatever it meant to the people who loved it.
Cullen had rolled his eyes.
At the time, I thought it was an ordinary father-and-son conversation.
Now I wondered whether money had become more important to him than anything his father had tried to teach him.
I placed the photograph back.
Then I walked outside.
The evening air was cool.
I sat in the wooden chair near the porch railing.
I looked toward the blue front door.
And I made a decision.
I would not accuse Cullen of deliberately taking anything unless I had proof.
But I would also stop protecting him from the consequences of what he had told people.
He had made promises.
He had invited others into my life.
He had allowed them to believe I was giving away my home.
Now he would have to explain himself.
Not just to me.
To everyone he had involved.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: Blythe Asked Me to Think About Her Future, but Nobody Had Thought About the Seventy-One-Year-Old Woman They Expected to Leave Her Own Home
My Only Son Called to Announce His Wedding, but One Casual Sentence Made Me Realize I Was No Longer Welcome in His Life
Part 13 of 20
