Garrett remained in the kitchen long after my attorney left.
He kept looking at the blue folder.
Tiffany sat across from him.
Neither seemed interested in the coffee anymore.
I stood near the counter, watching them.
For eleven years, I had imagined what it might feel like if Garrett ever came back.
I had pictured an apology.
Perhaps an explanation.
Maybe even a simple question about whether I had been all right.
Instead, he had arrived with a moving van and documents he wanted me to sign.
Now he was asking about ownership.
"Dad, can we talk without your attorney?"
I looked at him.
"We've been talking."
"I mean privately."
"Go ahead."
He glanced toward Tiffany.
She stood and walked toward the window.
Garrett lowered his voice.
"I didn't know things were arranged this way."
I almost laughed.
"You didn't know because you never asked."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I thought you were just living up here."
"I was living up here. I also owned it."
He looked toward the windows.
"All forty-five acres?"
"Yes."
"And the lodge?"
"Yes."
He sat back.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he asked whether I had ever considered selling the property.
I looked at him.
"No."
"Not even for a lot of money?"
"Why would I?"
He shrugged.
"It's worth millions."
"I know what it's worth."
He looked surprised.
Perhaps he thought I hadn't understood the value of what I had built.
But I had been involved in every stage.
I knew what the land had cost.
I knew what the materials had cost.
I knew how many hours had gone into the construction.
I also knew that a valuation was not the same thing as cash sitting in a bank account.
Garrett leaned forward.
"Then why not let family enjoy it?"
I looked at him.
"You mean let you move in?"
"We could help you."
I remembered the last time he had offered to take care of me.
I remembered the basement.
The weekly payments.
The locked door.
I shook my head.
"I don't need that kind of help."
Tiffany turned from the window.
"We've changed."
I looked at her.
"Perhaps."
She folded her arms.
"People make mistakes."
"Yes. They do."
Garrett looked relieved.
He seemed to think I was finally softening.
Then I continued.
"But mistakes don't disappear just because someone needs something."
His expression changed.
He looked down at the table.
I thought about the $640,000.
I had never asked them to return it.
I had never demanded an explanation for how it was spent.
But I had also never forgotten what happened afterward.
I had given them the proceeds from the house Clara and I had spent decades paying for.
In return, I received a basement room.
That was not a misunderstanding.
It was a decision.
Garrett finally spoke again.
"Are you planning to leave everything to someone else?"
I studied his face.
"Why are you asking?"
"Because I'm your son."
There it was again.
The same sentence.
The same expectation.
I walked to the chair and sat down.
"Garrett, being my son means something. It always has."
He nodded.
"But it doesn't mean you get to decide what happens to everything I own."
He looked away.
I could tell he wanted to argue.
But the documents had made that difficult.
I wasn't confused.
I wasn't helpless.
And I wasn't waiting for someone to tell me what to do with my own property.
Tiffany approached the table.
"What happens to the estate when you die?"
I looked at her.
Then at Garrett.
He didn't stop her from asking.
I took a moment before answering.
"My estate arrangements are private."
She looked disappointed.
"But we're family."
I nodded.
"Then you should understand why I want them handled properly."
Garrett pushed his chair back.
He walked toward the window.
For a while, he stood looking at the eastern peaks.
I wondered whether he was finally seeing the house.
Not as an inheritance.
Not as a solution to his debts.
But as something I had built during the years he had chosen not to know me.
I hoped he would understand.
I wasn't sure he would.
Click here to continue reading: PART 18: The Pink Foreclosure Notice Explained Their Sudden Arrival, but What My Son Asked Me Next Hurt More Than His Original Demand
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 17 of 20
