Chapter 4 - The Panic Sets In
I unlocked the screen, ignoring the incoming wave of live calls, and tapped directly into the messaging app to open my chat history with Jason. The screen scrolled endlessly through a wall of text that grew progressively more unhinged as the hours had ticked by.
"Rachel, call me the second you get this."
"This is an absolute emergency. Stop ignoring my texts."
"Mom is completely freaking out and throwing up in the bathroom."
"Melissa is crying. David is screaming at the real estate agent."
And finally, capping off the catastrophic descent into madness, the message that made everything fall into place:
"Rachel, why in God's name does the closing attorney's office say your name is on the sole ownership documents for Grandma’s property?! Answer me right now!"
I read that final message twice, letting the exquisite irony wash over me like a warm wave. I could picture the scene in Chicago with crystal clarity: the entire Miller clan gathered around the dining table, high on the promise of an easy payday, only to have the rug violently yanked out from under them by a quiet real estate lawyer reading straight from the official county deed records.
Before I could even formulate a reply, the phone started vibrating violently in my hand once more. The screen flashed a bright, angry red, displaying a name that had caused me no small amount of grief over the past five years.
PATRICIA MILLER.
My mother, noticing the sudden flurry of digital activity and the intense look on my face, stepped gracefully out onto the terrace from the interior living room, holding a glass of fresh orange juice. She looked out at the sparkling ocean, then glanced over at my ringing phone.
"Everything okay out here, sweetie?" she asked, her voice calm and completely unbothered by the chaos of the mainland.
I looked out at the endless expanse of the Pacific Ocean, listening to the gentle hiss of the surf rolling onto the sand. Then I looked down at the screaming phone screen in my hand, where Patricia Miller's name was flashing relentlessly.
May you like
Yesterday, there hadn't been an extra chair, a single plate, or an ounce of space for me at their meticulously decorated Christmas table. I had been deemed surplus to requirements, an inconvenient variable in their picture-perfect family portrait.
Apparently, however, today they had finally, miraculously found plenty of room for me in the family. Especially now that they realized I legally owned the very roof over their heads.
