The driveway had become very quiet.
The U-Haul was still running.
One of Ray's friends stood beside the open rear doors, holding a furniture strap.
Nobody seemed to know whether to continue unloading.
I watched Derek.
He had stopped looking at the deputy.
Now he was looking at me.
"Mom, can we please talk?"
I didn't answer immediately.
I wanted to hear what he had to say.
Not because I expected him to explain everything.
Because I had spent too many years making excuses for him.
"Go ahead."
He glanced toward Megan.
Then toward Ray.
"Not here."
I looked around.
The neighbors were still watching.
The moving truck was still in my driveway.
My attorney was holding the documents.
And my son wanted privacy.
I almost laughed.
He hadn't considered my privacy when he announced to Megan's parents that they could have my home.
He hadn't considered it when he allowed Donna to measure my bedroom windows.
He hadn't considered it when Megan brought that photocopy to my kitchen table.
But now he wanted a private conversation.
I shook my head.
"We can talk when the moving is finished."
He frowned.
"That's what I'm trying to explain."
I looked toward the deputy.
My attorney stepped closer.
He reminded Derek that the property documents had been presented and that the move-in could not continue as though the ownership question had been settled in his favor.
Derek looked away.
Ray walked toward him.
"Tell me something."
Derek turned.
"What?"
"Did you actually own this property?"
Derek rubbed his face.
"I was supposed to."
Ray stared at him.
"That's not what I asked."
Megan stood beside her father.
Donna had her arms folded.
I could tell that the conversation was becoming uncomfortable for all of them.
Ray pointed toward the house.
"You told us we could live here."
Derek nodded.
"I know."
"You said it belonged to you."
"I thought everything was taken care of."
Ray looked toward my attorney.
"Then what was that paper she signed?"
My attorney explained again that the quitclaim deed had not been recorded.
He explained that the property was held in the trust.
He did not argue about Derek's intentions.
He stayed with the documents.
Ray listened.
Donna listened too.
Megan kept looking at the photocopy in her hands.
I remembered the confidence with which she had placed that paper in front of me.
She had expected me to accept it.
Now she was seeing another set of documents that told a different story.
"Why didn't you tell us?" Donna asked Derek.
He didn't answer.
She repeated the question.
"Why would you let us cancel our lease if you weren't certain?"
Derek looked irritated.
"I told you I had it handled."
Ray shook his head.
"Apparently, you didn't."
One of the men helping with the move approached Ray.
"Should we put the furniture back in the truck?"
Ray didn't answer immediately.
He looked toward the deputy.
Then toward my attorney.
Finally, he nodded.
"Wait until we know what we're doing."
I understood his position.
He had rented a truck.
He had gathered friends.
He had ended his lease.
He believed he was moving into a property his daughter and son-in-law had arranged for him.
But believing something did not make it true.
I walked toward the porch.
I wanted to check that nothing had been damaged.
The swing was still hanging properly.
The railing was untouched.
The gardenias along the fence had not been stepped on.
I stood there for a moment.
Then I heard Megan behind me.
"Vivien."
I turned.
She was holding the photocopy.
"I didn't know about the trust."
I looked at her.
"That may be true."
She seemed relieved that I hadn't immediately accused her of lying.
Then she asked whether there was any way we could still arrange something for her parents.
I looked at her for a long moment.
I thought about the way she had spoken to me in my kitchen.
I thought about the curtains.
The paint.
The sentence about which family needed the house most.
I answered carefully.
"I never offered them this property."
She lowered her eyes.
I didn't add anything.
There are moments when explaining yourself only gives people another opportunity to argue.
This was one of them.
My attorney approached and asked me whether I wanted him to continue handling the conversation.
I said yes.
I was tired.
Not physically.
Emotionally.
The deputy remained nearby while the people involved discussed how to stop the move-in and remove the belongings that had already been brought onto the property.
I stood beside the porch swing.
For the first time that morning, I felt the full weight of what had happened.
My son had tried to give away my home.
And the people he had invited were now looking at him for answers he couldn't provide.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Moving Boxes Began Going Back Into the Truck, and I Saw How Much Damage One Family Lie Could Cause
The Afternoon My Son Told Me I Had Lost the Right to Enter the House I Had Spent Twenty Years Building
Part 9 of 24
