I didn't mention the pink paper.
Tiffany had already pushed it deep inside her handbag.
Garrett was still standing near the windows, looking across the property.
He seemed impressed.
Or perhaps relieved.
I couldn't tell which.
"How long have you been living here, Dad?"
"Quite a while."
"By yourself?"
"Yes."
He nodded as though he were calculating something.
Then he looked toward the staircase.
"You've got a lot of space here."
"It's a large house."
"How many bedrooms?"
I looked at him.
"Enough."
He laughed.
"Dad, I'm just asking."
I picked up my coffee.
He continued walking through the living room.
His eyes moved from the fireplace to the timber beams and then toward the hallway.
Tiffany followed him.
She stopped beside one of the large windows.
"This view must be worth a fortune."
"It's a nice view."
She turned toward me.
"You must get lonely out here."
I thought about that question.
There had been lonely nights.
There had been winters when I hadn't spoken to another person for days.
But I had never felt as unwanted as I had in Garrett's basement.
"I manage," I answered.
Garrett returned to the kitchen.
He pulled out a chair and sat down without asking.
"Listen, Dad. We need to talk about something."
I remained standing.
"Go ahead."
He rubbed his hands together.
"We've been through a lot lately."
I glanced toward Tiffany.
She was pretending to examine something on the counter.
Garrett continued.
"Our situation back home wasn't working anymore."
I remembered the phone call.
Financial Recovery Department.
I remembered the pink notice.
"What happened?"
He looked uncomfortable.
"Business problems."
"How serious?"
"Nothing we can't deal with."
I didn't believe him.
He avoided my eyes.
Tiffany finally sat down.
"We just need a fresh start."
I looked at her.
"Is that why you sold everything?"
Garrett answered before she could.
"We made a decision together."
I glanced outside.
The moving van was still parked near the trailer.
Some of their furniture was covered with plastic.
There were black bags tied around several boxes.
It didn't look like the careful beginning of a new life.
It looked like someone had packed in a hurry.
"Where are you staying tonight?" I asked.
Garrett smiled.
"Here, obviously."
I took a slow breath.
"No."
His smile disappeared.
"What?"
"You can't move into my house."
He stared at me.
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
Then he gave a short laugh.
"Dad, don't start."
"I'm not starting anything."
"We drove all this way."
"I can see that."
"We've sold our house. We don't have anywhere else."
I looked at him.
"That isn't something I arranged."
Tiffany leaned forward.
"We're family, Harrison."
She rarely used my first name.
It sounded strange coming from her.
"Family doesn't disappear for eleven years and then arrive with a moving van."
Garrett shifted in his chair.
"Come on. We're trying to make things right."
I looked at him carefully.
"Then why did you come here without calling?"
He didn't answer.
Instead, he pointed toward the hallway.
"You have five bedrooms in this place."
I felt my jaw tighten.
There it was.
Not an apology.
Not an explanation.
Five bedrooms.
He had counted the rooms before he had asked how I was doing.
I remembered the basement.
The concrete floor.
The hanging bulb.
The stained mattress.
I remembered the locked door during his dinner party.
Now he was standing in a house I had built with my own hands, telling me there was enough room for him.
I wasn't going to repeat that mistake.
I finally sat across from him.
"I'll give you somewhere to stay temporarily."
His expression improved.
"See? That's what I'm talking about."
"Not in the main house."
His smile faded again.
I continued.
"There is a heated guest bunkhouse on the property. You can use it for forty-eight hours."
Tiffany looked at Garrett.
"Forty-eight hours?"
"That's what I said."
Garrett leaned back.
"Dad, that's ridiculous."
"It's what I'm offering."
"We're your son and daughter-in-law."
"And I'm the owner of this property."
The words came out more firmly than I intended.
Garrett stared at me.
Then he glanced toward Tiffany.
She gave a small nod.
I knew they didn't like the arrangement.
But they accepted it.
Perhaps they thought two days would be enough time to change my mind.
Perhaps they thought I was simply being difficult.
They didn't understand that I had spent eleven years learning how to protect my peace.
I stood and picked up the apple pie from the counter.
"Come on. I'll show you the bunkhouse."
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: I Gave Them Two Days in My Heated Bunkhouse, but Tiffany Was Already Looking for Something Inside My Main House
My Son Had Not Spoken to Me in Eleven Years, Yet He Arrived at My Mountain Home Acting as Though He Already Owned It
Part 9 of 20
