By early afternoon, most of the guests had left.
The driveway looked strangely large without the parked cars.
A few folding chairs remained near the porch.
Laurelai had stopped trying to arrange them.
Miles stood beside the car, speaking quietly to her.
Cullen remained near the suitcases.
I wanted to go inside.
I wanted to close the door, put the envelope away, and have a few minutes without anyone asking me to explain my own property.
But Cullen had not finished talking.
"Mom, I need to know what that document is."
I looked at him.
"You told everyone you had seen the deed."
"I saw paperwork."
"What paperwork?"
He rubbed his forehead.
"It was in the front hall. I saw your name on it."
That was more specific than anything he had said before.
I tried to remember where I had kept the envelope before discovering the tape.
It had been stored with my important papers.
I had not left it on a table in the front hall.
But I couldn't remember every movement of every document over the previous months.
I wouldn't pretend otherwise.
"What did the page say?" I asked.
"I didn't read the whole thing."
"Then how did you know it was a deed?"
He looked annoyed.
"It looked official."
I waited.
He said the papers had been in an envelope and that he had seen a page with my name on it.
He did not explain whether he had read a title, a description of the property, or a signature.
I asked whether he had seen a completed transfer.
He said he believed he had.
Believed.
That was different from knowing.
I felt a dull ache behind my eyes.
"Miles told me you said everything had been signed in June."
Cullen's face changed.
"He asked you about that?"
"Yes."
He looked toward the driveway.
"I thought the arrangement was finished."
"What arrangement?"
He didn't answer.
I could see the struggle in his face.
Part of him seemed to believe that repeating his claim would make it true.
Another part appeared to understand that he had no clear explanation for it.
I wanted to help him find the truth.
I also wanted him to understand that I would not accept a guess as proof.
"The papers my attorney prepared were connected to a decision I was considering," I said. "They were not permission for you to move in whenever you wanted."
He stared at me.
"Then why prepare them?"
"Because I was thinking about your future."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
I had never intended the document to become a source of conflict.
It had been part of a plan I hoped would bring us closer.
I had wanted to explain what Nile had written and why the beach house mattered to me.
I had wanted Cullen to understand that inheritance was not simply a matter of waiting for someone to die.
It involved responsibility.
It involved care.
It involved respecting the person who was still alive and still making decisions.
I had not yet found the right words to explain all of that.
Now I was trying to explain it while he stood beside six boxes and four suitcases.
He looked at the envelope in my hand.
"Can I see it?"
I hesitated.
The envelope had been opened without my knowledge.
I didn't know who had done it.
I wasn't ready to hand it to him simply because he asked.
"I'll let my attorney review the documents with me first."
His expression hardened again.
"You don't trust me."
I looked at him for a long moment.
"I don't know what happened to that envelope."
"You're accusing me?"
"No. I'm telling you what I know."
He shook his head.
I could see that he wanted a simpler answer.
He wanted me to say I trusted him and let the matter end there.
But trust could not replace facts.
I had trusted him to tell me when he planned to marry.
I had trusted him to ask before moving into my house.
I had trusted him to treat Nile's photograph with respect.
Those things had not happened.
I still loved him.
That did not mean I could ignore what had changed.
Miles approached us.
"I think we should stop for today."
Cullen said nothing.
Miles looked at me.
"I didn't mean to put you in this position."
I believed he was uncomfortable.
I couldn't know whether he had understood the arrangement correctly when he first heard about it.
But he had helped organize a gathering at a house he did not own.
"I wish you had called me before sending the invitations," I said.
He nodded.
"So do I."
Laurelai joined us.
She looked at the remaining chairs and then at the luggage.
"This has gone far enough."
I didn't respond.
She had been the person who warned me not to embarrass her daughter.
Now she seemed most concerned about ending the scene.
I picked up the folder containing the invitation.
"I'll be going inside."
Cullen stepped toward me.
"Mom, we still need somewhere to stay."
I paused.
For a moment, I saw the little boy who used to wait by the door when I came home from work.
I remembered how he used to hold my hand when he was frightened.
I wanted to make the problem disappear for him.
But he was no longer a child.
He was a married man who had made arrangements without asking the person whose home he intended to occupy.
"I'm sorry you're dealing with that," I said. "But I can't give you a house because you've already planned to live in it."
He looked as though I had struck him.
I felt the pain of that.
I also knew the answer had to stand.
I unlocked the door and went inside.
Nile's photograph was still on the mantel.
I checked it before setting my purse down.
The frame was straight.
The blue door was visible through the front window.
I put the envelope in a secure place and sat on the sofa.
Outside, I could hear the remaining guests preparing to leave.
The day had not answered all my questions.
I still didn't know who had opened the envelope.
I still didn't know exactly what Cullen had seen.
But I had finally stopped treating his certainty as proof.
Click here to continue reading: PART 12: After the Last Car Left, I Sat Beside Nile’s Photograph and Tried to Understand What My Son Thought He Had Been Promised
The Sunday Morning Call That Made Me Question Everything I Thought I Knew About My Only Son
Part 11 of 24
