Kevin remained standing beside the table.
The money was between us.
For a few seconds, I thought he might finally apologize.
Instead, he pulled out a chair and sat down.
"Mom, let's not make this bigger than it is."
I looked at him.
"Bigger than it is?"
He rubbed his hands together.
"I made a decision. Maybe I should have discussed it with you first."
I stared at him.
"First?"
He nodded.
"Yes. I could have handled it better."
I waited for him to say he was sorry.
He didn't.
Instead, he looked toward the money again.
"I still think keeping that much cash at home is a bad idea."
I couldn't believe what I was hearing.
A few minutes earlier, he had been asking about the package.
Now he was giving me financial advice.
I asked him whether he wanted to discuss the car or the money.
He looked annoyed.
"Both, I guess."
"Then let's start with the car."
He leaned back.
"What about it?"
"You sold something that belonged to me."
"I thought you weren't going to need it."
"That wasn't your decision."
He sighed.
I could see him preparing another explanation.
He had always been good at that.
There was always a reason.
A bill.
A problem.
An emergency.
Something that made his actions seem less selfish.
I had listened to those explanations for years.
This time, I didn't interrupt him.
I wanted to hear what he would say when I stopped helping him find the right words.
"I was trying to make sure you didn't have an old vehicle sitting around."
I nodded.
"How thoughtful."
He looked at me.
"Don't do that, Mom."
"Do what?"
"Talk like I'm some terrible person."
I looked down at my hands.
I didn't want to call him terrible.
I wanted him to understand what he had done.
"You took my car while I was recovering."
"I didn't take it. I sold it."
"And kept the money."
"I needed it."
I looked at him.
"So did I."
That stopped him briefly.
Then he asked whether I had any plans for the forty-one thousand dollars.
I felt my shoulders tighten.
"That is private."
"You're my mother."
"And I am still allowed to have private things."
He looked toward Mrs. Collins.
She remained quiet.
Kevin seemed unhappy that she was there.
"Can we please talk without an audience?"
I shook my head.
"We're talking about something that happened in my house. She can stay."
He stood and walked toward the window.
He looked outside at the empty driveway.
"Well, I can't change what happened."
I nodded.
"Neither can I."
"Then let's move on."
I asked him about the money he had received for the car.
He said he had already spent most of it.
I asked what he had paid.
He mentioned several bills but gave no amounts.
I asked whether he had any receipts.
He looked at me as though I had insulted him.
"Why would I have receipts for everything?"
"Because you sold my property."
He shook his head.
I realized he wasn't going to volunteer anything.
So I asked one final question.
"Can you return the thirty-two hundred dollars?"
He looked down.
"Not right now."
"Can you return some of it?"
He hesitated.
"I'll see what I can do."
The same promise.
Different day.
Same words.
I leaned back against the sofa.
I was exhausted.
My hip was beginning to ache.
But I knew I couldn't let the conversation end without making something clear.
"Kevin, you don't have permission to sell anything else that belongs to me."
He looked at me.
"I wouldn't do that."
I thought about the house key.
The spare key Walt and I had given him.
The key that was supposed to help me in an emergency.
I no longer felt comfortable knowing he could enter whenever he wanted.
"I want my house key back."
His expression changed.
"What?"
"The spare key. I want it returned."
He looked offended.
"Why?"
"Because I asked for it."
"Mom, I'm your son."
"I know who you are."
He stared at me.
For a moment, I thought he might refuse.
Then he reached into his pocket and took out his key ring.
He removed a small brass key.
He placed it on the table.
"There."
I picked it up.
It felt heavier than it should have.
I had given him that key because I trusted him.
Now I was taking it back because I didn't.
Kevin stood.
"I think I should go."
I nodded.
"All right."
He looked at the package one more time.
Then he walked toward the door.
I didn't follow him.
Mrs. Collins remained beside me.
When the door closed, I heard his footsteps moving down the front path.
Then the sound of his car starting.
I looked at the brass key in my hand.
I had never thought I would take it back.
But I had.
And for the first time in a long while, I had said no without immediately apologizing for it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: The Little Brass Key on My Kitchen Table Reminded Me That Trust Can Disappear Long Before Love Does
I Came Home From Three Weeks of Recovery and Found an Empty Driveway Where My Car Had Always Been
Part 9 of 20
