Chapter 6 - The Uninvited Return
The Christmas holiday passed in glorious, uninterrupted serenity. For forty-eight hours, my phone remained peaceful. The blocked numbers prevented Caleb and Sloan from inundating me with toxic messages, though Marcus, my attorney, notified me on December 26th that Caleb had left three frantic voicemails at his legal office, demanding to know why his mother was ""acting illegally."" Marcus had simply replied with an electronic copy of the thirty-day eviction notice, citing non-payment of rent, unauthorized property modifications, and breach of tenancy peace.
On the morning of December 27th, the temporary peace shattered.
I was sitting in my breakfast nook, enjoying a warm cup of Earl Grey tea, when the unmistakable roar of Caleb’s SUV and the loud clatter of the rental passenger van echoed outside. I parted the linen curtains and looked out.
The Vance family looked like a defeated army returning from a disastrous campaign.
The luxury van was caked in dirty road slush and salt. Sloan’s sister Brittany was slumped in the passenger seat with her arms crossed, glaring at the dashboard. Evelyn looked haggard and exhausted, her white shearling coat stained with coffee. Richard slammed the driver-side door with enough force to rattle the van's frame, refusing to even look at Caleb as he hauled his luggage onto the asphalt.
Caleb looked like a ghost. His eyes were hollow, sunken, and dark with exhaustion. He hadn't shaved in three days, and his jacket was zipped crookedly. He marched toward the front door of my house, lugging two heavy duffel bags, followed closely by Sloan, who was carrying a screaming Leo by the arm.
""Just get the bags inside, Caleb!"" Sloan barked, her voice raspy from days of screaming matches in the annex rooms. ""I need a hot bath and five hours of silence before I have to look at my mother again!""
Caleb reached into his pocket, pulled out his brass house key, and shoved it into the front deadbolt.
The key refused to enter the keyway.
He frowned, wiggled the key, pulled it out, inspected it, and tried again. Nothing. He stepped to the side and punched his standard six-digit pin into the newly installed electronic digital keypad.
A sharp, red light blinked three times. A harsh digital buzzer sounded: Access Denied.
Caleb froze. He stared at the gleaming, brushed-nickel lock, then looked down at his brass key, his face contorting into sudden horror. He pounded his fist against the heavy mahogany door.
""Mom!"" he shouted, his voice cracking against the glass transom above. ""Mom, open the door! The locks aren't working! Mom!""
Sloan dropped her purse onto the porch, marching up beside him. She grabbed the handle and rattled it furiously. ""Helena! Stop playing these childish games! We’ve been driving in traffic for five hours! The kids need to use the bathroom! Unlock this door right now!""
I didn't rush to the door. I took another measured sip of my hot tea, set the porcelain cup down on its saucer, and walked into the entryway. I didn't unlock the deadbolt. Instead, I pressed the button on the two-way video intercom mounted beside the door frame.
""You can step off the porch now,"" my voice projected clearly through the exterior speaker.
May you like
Caleb leaned close to the camera lens, his eyes wide and bloodshot. ""Mom! Thank God you're in there! What happened to the locks? My key won't even fit in the hole! Did the security system malfunction?""
""Nothing malfunctioned, Caleb,"" I replied calmly. ""The locks were changed on Christmas Eve, approximately two hours after you told me I would enjoy peace and quiet.""
