Sandra called the next morning while I was drinking coffee on the back porch.
“Melanie, I think you owe Britney an apology.”
I almost laughed. “For what?”
“For embarrassing her at the party.”
“She took Emma’s car keys.”
“She was joking.”
“She got in the driver’s seat.”
“Because she was excited!”
Sandra sighed dramatically. “Mom agrees with me.”
Of course she did.
“Honestly,” Sandra went on, “if you were thinking about fairness, you’d give Britney the Mazda and get Emma something cheaper. Emma already has everything going for her. Britney’s Nissan barely runs.”
I stared out at the garden. “Struggling doesn’t entitle Britney to my daughter’s things.”
“You’re financially comfortable, Melanie. Stop being selfish.”
I looked through the kitchen window at my laptop. The spreadsheet was still open.
“You’re right about one thing, Sandra,” I said. “I’ve been giving too much.”
“Exactly. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you…”
“You’ll be getting a letter from my attorney this week. The reduced-rent arrangement is ending. My attorney will review the lease and explain the lawful options for changing the terms.”
There was silence. Then she laughed nervously. “You’re kidding.”
“No.”
“Melanie, you can’t do that! We’re family!”
“That’s what you’ve been reminding me for twenty years.”
“Mom is going to be furious.”
“She can be furious.”
Then Sandra screamed something that made my blood run cold.
“MOM ALREADY PROMISED BRITNEY THAT HOUSE! YOU CAN’T TAKE IT BACK!”
I sat very still. “What did you just say?”
“You heard me.”
“Sandra, that property belongs to me.”
“That’s not what Mom said. She said the house was going to be Britney’s. She said it was already arranged.”
“Arranged how?”
“I don’t have to explain anything to you.”
And she hung up.
The house was mine. The deed was in my name, and so was the mortgage. Every tax bill, insurance statement, and repair invoice came to me. My mother had no authority to promise that property to anyone. So why did Sandra sound so sure?
I called Mom. She answered on the third ring.
“Melanie, I heard you were horrible to your sister.”
“Did you promise my house to Britney?”
Silence. Then she sighed. “Don’t start.”
“Answer the question.”
“We discussed some possibilities. Your sister needs security, and Britney deserves a stable future. You have a good job, a paid-off home, and a daughter going to college. Sandra doesn’t have those advantages.”
“Mom, I own that rental property.”
“And what’s ownership worth if you won’t help your own family?”
“Did you sign something?”
Another silence. Then, very softly, she said, “I think you should come over and discuss this in person.”
“Tell me what you signed.”
For the first time in my life, my mother sounded frightened.
“There are things about that house you don’t understand,” she said, and hung up.
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