Chapter 4 - The Man at the Library
Ruth called Saturday to confirm the library sale.
“You sound tired,” she said.
“It's been a long week.”
“Then come for forty minutes. Nobody gets graded on stamina.”
I nearly cried at the invitation's lack of conditions.
The twins disappeared into the children's section while Frank helped volunteers move a table. Ruth handed me coffee in a paper cup.
I told her only that family money problems had become serious.
She didn't ask for the entertaining details.
“Do you have good help?”
“A lawyer. My ex. A few friends.”
“Good. More than one person should know when you're carrying something heavy.”
At the checkout table, Finn found a book about bridges with a broken spine.
“Mom fixes buildings,” he told the volunteer. “Maybe she can fix this.”
“We'll start with tape,” I said.
Frank laughed.
For an hour, I remembered who I was outside the family emergency.
Then my phone vibrated.
A message from a number I didn't recognize.
My name is Daniel Price. I notarized a document concerning your mother's property. Your attorney contacted me. I think we need to speak through her.
I forwarded it to Elena.
By Monday afternoon, the outline had become worse.
Price had records of the deed transaction. The identification copy retained with the file showed my name and an old photograph from a license I had replaced years earlier.
I hadn't supplied it.
Wes had organized the meeting. A woman had presented herself as me.
Price was now represented by his own attorney.
“Do they know who she was?” I asked.
“Not conclusively,” Elena said. “We aren't filling gaps with guesses.”
Talia called that evening.
I watched her name light the screen and let it go to voicemail.
Then I listened.
“I didn't know what he was going to do with it.”
My skin prickled.
She continued, crying.
“The license picture. He said the lender needed family identification. I thought it was administrative.”
I sent the message to Elena without responding.
The next morning, Wes arrived at my job site.
I was inspecting water damage behind the balcony of an old theater. He waited near the lobby, wearing the expensive coat he always wore when he wanted people to assume he was successful.
“You can't be here,” I said.
“We need ten minutes.”
“Contact my attorney.”
He stepped closer.
“I am your brother.”
“And this is my workplace.”
My project manager, Nia, came through the auditorium doors.
“Everything okay?”
Wes smiled at her.
“Family misunderstanding.”
“No,” I said. “He's leaving.”
The smile disappeared.
“You think you're better than us because you learned how to fix rich people's ceilings?”
“No. I think I get to decide who comes into my workplace.”
Nia stood beside me.
Wes looked from one of us to the other and finally backed away.
At the door, he turned.
“Dad would hate what you're doing.”
There had been a time when that sentence could have broken me.
Instead, I pictured Dad showing me how to check a rotted porch board before putting weight on it.
Look underneath, Maren. Paint can lie.
“I don't think you should speak for him,” I said.
After Wes left, Nia brought me a glass of water.
“Need the afternoon?”
“I need twenty minutes.”
“Take thirty.”
I sat alone in the empty theater, surrounded by plaster flowers I had spent months repairing.
The damage hadn't disappeared because we found it.
But finding it meant we could stop building on top of it.
I thought about how often I'd described myself as lucky because my family needed me. Needed was a word with respectable weight. It made exhaustion sound useful. But when Nia returned to ask whether I wanted company, she accepted my no and left the water within reach. Her kindness didn't require me to prove she mattered. I sat with that difference while afternoon light crossed the empty rows. Somewhere above the balcony, a pipe clicked as the building warmed. There were things I could repair here because the owners had agreed to stop pretending the leak was merely weather.
When I checked my phone, Elena had left a message.
May you like
The buyer had suspended negotiations.
And investigators wanted to speak with me about the deed.
