There was only one person besides me who knew the truth about the building.
My niece, Jessie.
She had lived with me when she was younger.
She moved into my home at sixteen after my sister went to Florida with a boyfriend.
Jessie stayed until she was eighteen.
I never thought of her as a burden.
She was family.
She needed somewhere steady to live, and I had a home.
So we made it work.
I helped her with school.
I helped her with the things young people need when they're trying to figure out what kind of life they want.
Later, I paid for her paralegal education.
I was proud of her.
She had worked hard, and she had found a place for herself at the county recorder's office.
Her job involved deeds and property records.
She understood paperwork that most people never thought about.
She knew how ownership was documented.
She knew what names appeared on official records.
And she knew how important it was to get those details right.
That spring, something happened at her office.
The bank's document confirming that the building loan had been paid in full came across her desk.
The paperwork carried the company name connected to my grandmother's old street.
My signature was there, too.
Jessie recognized it.
She knew the property.
She knew the family connection behind the company name.
And she understood what the paperwork meant.
She called me that evening.
Her voice sounded different from usual.
Not upset.
More like she was trying to make sure she had understood something correctly.
"Aunt Kace?"
"What's wrong?"
There was a pause.
Then she asked the question.
"Was that building yours?"
I didn't pretend not to understand.
"Yes."
Another pause.
Then she spoke again.
"You were the one paying the loan all those years?"
"Yes."
I could almost picture her sitting with the paperwork in front of her.
She knew how much work it took to pay off a property like that.
She also knew what Rance had told people.
She knew he believed I had sold the building.
And now she understood that the company name had been hiding something very different.
She asked me again.
"That was really you?"
"It was."
I didn't say much more.
I didn't need to.
She already understood.
Then I told her something I wanted her to remember.
"Keep it in the family."
I meant it.
My grandmother's street wasn't just a name on a company document.
It was part of why I had chosen that name in the first place.
I had worked for years to keep the property.
I wasn't interested in making a public announcement about it.
I wanted the building to remain connected to the family.
Jessie understood.
She didn't go around telling people.
She kept the information where it belonged.
For a while, nothing changed.
I continued my mail route.
Rance continued running his shop.
The rent continued going through the property manager.
Then, the Friday before my birthday dinner, I received an email.
It was from the property manager in DuBois.
Rance had made an offer on the building.
The amount was $180,000.
Cash.
He wanted to buy it as it stood.
The roof needed attention, and he had used that condition as part of his offer.
I read the email more than once.
It was strange seeing his name attached to an offer for a property he had believed belonged to somebody else.
I knew the building was worth considerably more than his offer.
Main Street had changed.
The improvements around town had increased the value of properties in that area.
The old brick building was worth more than twice what Rance was proposing to pay.
I didn't answer the email immediately.
I didn't reject it.
I didn't accept it.
I simply left it there.
It could wait.
I had other things to think about that weekend.
My fiftieth birthday was coming up.
My son, RJ, had decided to organize a dinner at the Italian restaurant on Main.
He wanted to bring together some people who mattered to me.
A few neighbors.
Some of my coworkers from the post office.
Jessie.
His girlfriend.
I wasn't expecting anything elaborate.
I had spent most of my birthdays working or having a quiet evening at home.
A dinner with family and friends was more than enough.
But RJ had one request.
He asked me about his father.
"Mom, would you mind if I invited Dad?"
I knew exactly who he meant.
Rance.
I looked at my son.
He wasn't trying to upset me.
He was trying to make something possible that he had wanted for a long time.
"It's been nine years," he said.
"Maybe we could all sit together for one evening."
I understood what he was asking.
RJ loved his father.
Whatever had happened between Rance and me, it hadn't changed that.
I didn't want my son to feel as though he had to choose sides every time there was a family gathering.
So I agreed.
"All right," I told him.
"Invite him."
I meant it when I said yes.
At least, I thought I did.
Saturday came.
I finished my mail route and went straight to the restaurant.
I was still wearing my postal uniform shirt.
I hadn't bothered changing because I wanted to get there on time.
There were already people at the table.
Jessie was there.
RJ's girlfriend was there.
Some of my coworkers had arrived, and a few neighbors were talking near the end of the table.
The birthday cake was waiting.
For a little while, everything felt ordinary.
People asked about work.
Someone mentioned the weather.
A couple of my carriers talked about the route.
I was happy to see them.
Then Rance arrived.
He was late.
Vickie came in with him, holding his arm.
He looked as though he had already spent some time drinking before coming to dinner.
He found his seat across from me.
His eyes went to the cake.
Then he looked at me.
I could tell he wasn't particularly interested in celebrating my birthday.
Still, I tried to let the evening continue.
RJ had worked hard to bring everybody together.
I didn't want to ruin that for him.
Before we cut the cake, Rance picked up his glass.
He tapped it with a fork.
The conversation slowly stopped.
I looked at him.
He stood there, smiling.
"To Kaci," he said.
"Fifty years old, and still delivering everybody else's mail."
People laughed.
Not everybody.
But enough.
A couple of the people from my own workplace laughed, too.
I felt their reaction before I looked at them.
My face became warm.
I kept my hands near my plate.
Rance wasn't finished.
He made another remark about how some people had managed to build something with their lives.
Then he reached inside his jacket.
He took out a folded piece of paper.
And placed it beside my plate.
I looked down.
It was a contract.
He smiled at our son.
He had signed it that afternoon.
He was making an offer on the building where his tire shop stood.
The building I had spent nine years paying for.
The building whose mortgage had finally disappeared in March.
And the seller's name was printed clearly on the page.
My grandmother's street.
I looked at it.
Then I looked at Rance.
He still had no idea.
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: He Thought the Contract Was Already a Victory, Until I Read the Name Printed Beneath His Offer
The Birthday Toast That Made Twenty People Laugh, and the One Secret I Had Kept for Nine Years
Part 4 of 20
