On Monday morning, Blythe called.
I was preparing breakfast when her name appeared on the screen.
I answered.
"Hello, Blythe."
"Hi, Eleanor."
Her voice sounded unusually gentle.
I wondered whether she had finally decided to speak to me without anger.
She began by asking how I was feeling.
I told her I was fine.
Then she mentioned the honeymoon.
She said Hawaii had been beautiful.
She described the hotel.
The ocean view.
The restaurants.
I listened politely.
Then she changed the subject.
"Can we talk about September twenty-sixth?"
I looked at the calendar.
"Of course."
She took a breath.
"I really don't want there to be a scene."
"Neither do I."
"Mom, Cullen and I are starting our marriage. We want a peaceful home."
I put down the knife I was using.
"I understand that."
She continued.
"We've been planning this for months."
"I know."
"And we've made decisions based on what Cullen told us."
I waited.
She sounded almost upset.
"We thought everything was settled."
I looked toward the kitchen window.
"Blythe, did you ever ask me whether I had agreed to give you the house?"
There was silence.
Then she answered.
"Cullen said you had already decided."
"Did you ever speak with me about it?"
"No."
"Did you ever ask to see the paperwork?"
She hesitated.
"No."
I nodded, even though she couldn't see me.
"Then you made an assumption."
Her voice became sharper.
"We trusted our husband and our family."
I understood that.
But trust did not create ownership.
I tried to explain that without making the conversation worse.
"I am not against you and Cullen building a life together. I simply never agreed to give you my property."
She sighed.
"Do you understand what this means for us?"
I looked at the empty chair across the table.
"Do you understand what this means for me?"
She didn't answer.
I continued.
"I am seventy-one years old. That house is where I spent six summers rebuilding a home with my husband. It is where I still go to remember him."
Blythe interrupted.
"But you have so many memories there. We wouldn't change that."
I looked at the living room.
I remembered her white robe hanging in my bedroom.
My robe pushed into the hallway closet.
Nile's photograph hidden beneath takeout menus.
"Someone already changed things," I said quietly.
She became silent.
Then she said:
"I didn't mean to upset you."
I wanted to believe her.
But I couldn't ignore what had happened.
I asked whether she had known that Nile's photograph had been removed.
She answered quickly.
"I didn't know you were so attached to that particular picture."
I closed my eyes.
It was such a strange answer.
Not that she hadn't moved it.
Not that she was sorry.
But that she hadn't understood my attachment.
I told her the photograph had been in the same place for fourteen years.
She apologized.
This time, her voice sounded more sincere.
I thanked her.
Then she returned to the subject of the house.
"Could you at least let us stay there temporarily?"
I stared at the kitchen counter.
There it was.
The same request.
A smaller version of the same assumption.
I answered carefully.
"No."
She exhaled.
"Why not?"
"Because I don't want to share my home under these circumstances."
"We're family."
"Yes. And family should ask before making decisions about one another's homes."
She became quiet.
Then she said:
"I think Cullen is right. You're doing this because you're upset about the wedding."
I looked down.
Perhaps she was partly right.
The wedding had hurt me.
But the property issue was separate.
I explained that I was hurt because they had excluded me and then expected me to provide their home.
She said she understood.
But I could hear that she didn't.
The call ended politely.
I sat for several minutes.
Then I went to the hallway and opened the drawer.
I removed the cream-colored envelope.
I held it in my hands.
The tape was still visible.
I wondered whether Cullen had opened it.
I wondered whether Blythe had seen it.
I wondered whether either of them knew what was inside.
I returned it to the folder.
Later that afternoon, I drove to the beach house.
I wanted to make sure everything was ready for the gathering.
The front lawn needed trimming.
The porch chairs needed cleaning.
I swept the entrance.
Then I arranged the chairs so there would be enough room for people to stand without blocking the driveway.
I wasn't doing this for Laurelai.
I wasn't doing it for Cullen.
I was doing it because I refused to let someone else's plans make me feel unwelcome in my own home.
While I was sweeping, Margaret came over.
She looked at the chairs.
"Are you expecting company?"
I smiled faintly.
"Apparently, quite a lot."
She shook her head.
"You're stronger than I would be."
I stopped sweeping.
"I'm not sure about that."
She sat down.
I joined her.
We talked about Nile.
Margaret remembered him painting the door.
She said he had once helped her repair a broken fence during a storm.
"He was a good man," she said.
"He was."
She looked at the house.
"I wish he could see what you've done with it."
I looked toward the porch.
"He would probably tell me to stop worrying."
Margaret laughed softly.
Then she became serious.
"Do you think Cullen will understand?"
I didn't answer immediately.
"I hope so."
I wanted my son back.
Not the version of him who spoke about status.
Not the version who believed a property belonged to him because he had told people it did.
I wanted the boy who used to sit beside his father and ask questions about the ocean.
But I couldn't make him return to that person.
I could only decide what I would allow.
That evening, I called Richard.
I told him I had spoken with Blythe.
He reminded me that any discussion about temporary occupancy should be handled carefully.
I told him I had already said no.
He agreed that I should keep the property secured.
Then he asked whether I still intended to attend the gathering.
"Yes."
"All right. Keep the documents with you, but don't feel obligated to discuss them unless necessary."
I thanked him.
Before going to bed, I looked at the calendar.
September twenty-sixth.
The date was almost here.
I knew Cullen would arrive expecting a celebration.
I knew Laurelai would expect me to cooperate.
And I knew Blythe would want everything to look perfect.
But I was no longer trying to make their expectations comfortable.
I was trying to make sure the truth was not lost beneath them.
Click here to continue reading: PART 15: The Final Days Before September Twenty-Sixth Brought More Calls, More Pressure, and One Unexpected Visit From Miles
My Only Son Called to Announce His Wedding, but One Casual Sentence Made Me Realize I Was No Longer Welcome in His Life
Part 14 of 20
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