I called him back that night from my apartment, sitting at the little table by the window, with Dad’s tackle box on the shelf above me.
He picked up on the first ring.
“Ryan. Thank God. What is this? Are you really suing me?”
“Nobody’s suing anybody yet, Travis. Did you read the whole letter?”
“I read the part about the court.”
“Read the rest of it.”
I heard paper rustling. He was quiet for a long time.
“The taxes,” he finally said. “You paid the taxes?”
“Four thousand, two hundred sixteen dollars. They were delinquent, Travis. The county had sent three notices. Marcus saw the final notice on the counter. If they’d stayed unpaid, the county could eventually have foreclosed on Dad’s house.”
“I thought those were junk mail.”
“They said FINAL NOTICE in red.”
He didn’t answer.
“And the insurance,” I said. “Did you know the homeowner’s insurance was canceled in December? For two months, that house had no coverage. If there’d been a fire, or a pipe had burst, we’d have gotten nothing. Dad’s house. Nothing.”
I heard him breathe in sharply.
“I didn’t know,” he said. “Ryan, I swear to God I didn’t know.”
“You didn’t open the mail.”
“I didn’t open the mail,” he repeated, very quietly.
For a while neither of us spoke.
“So what happens now?” he asked. “Are you really going to make them sell it?”
“I don’t want to, Travis. I want you to pick one of the options. If you want to keep the house, you can buy out my half. If you can’t, we sell it together and split the money. Either way, I’m done paying for a house I don’t live in, and I’m done being the only adult in it.”
“I can’t buy you out. You know I can’t. I don’t have that kind of money.”
“Then we sell it.”
“It’s Dad’s house, Ryan.”
“I know whose house it is,” I said, and my voice cracked for the first time. “I’m the one who watered his tomatoes. You let them die.”
Silence.
“I’m sorry about the tomatoes,” Travis said.
It was the first time I could remember him apologizing for anything without the word “but” attached.
My mother called the next day, exactly as Travis had predicted.
“Ryan, a lawyer? Against your own brother? What would your father think?”
“Mom, did Travis tell you the taxes were delinquent?”
A pause. “He mentioned there was some confusion about a bill.”
“There was $4,216 in unpaid property taxes and penalties. The insurance was canceled. The county could have taken the house. I paid all of it to protect it. And for twenty months before that, I paid eighty percent of everything while he and Britney lived there for free.”
She was quiet.
“I didn’t know it was that bad,” she said finally.
“Nobody ever asks, Mom. Everybody just assumes I’ll handle it.”
“You always have.”
“That’s exactly the problem.”
She didn’t argue. For the first time in my life, my mother didn’t have an excuse ready for Travis.
Howard arranged for a licensed appraiser to inspect the house so both of us would know what it was actually worth. The appraiser, a careful woman named Linda Torres, spent two hours there with a tape measure and a camera. Travis let her in. I wasn’t there.
Her report came back three weeks later. The house was valued at $264,000. It would have been more, she noted, if it weren’t for the overgrown yard, a leaking gutter, a water stain on the bedroom ceiling, and a cracked window in the garage.
Travis called me after he read the report.
“Two hundred sixty-four thousand,” he said. “Dad paid eighty-seven.”
“He paid a lot more than that, Travis. He paid on it for twenty-seven years.”
“Yeah.” He was quiet. “Ryan, I tried to get a loan. To buy you out. I went to two banks.”
I hadn’t expected that.
“What happened?”
“My credit score’s 541.” He laughed bitterly. “I’ve got collections from a credit card I stopped paying. And there’s an electric bill in collections from before Dad died that I forgot about. The loan officer looked at me like I’d tracked mud on her carpet. She said, ‘Mr. Hale, I’d suggest working on your credit for a couple of years.'”
“I’m sorry, Travis.”
“Don’t be. It’s my fault.” He took a breath. “I think we have to sell it.”
Sophia Rivers is an experienced News Content Editor with a sharp eye for detail and a passion for delivering accurate and engaging news stories. At TheArchivists, she specializes in curating, editing, and presenting news content that informs and resonates with a global audience.
Sophia holds a degree in Journalism from the University of Toronto, where she developed her skills in news reporting, media ethics, and digital journalism. Her expertise lies in identifying key stories, crafting compelling narratives, and ensuring journalistic integrity in every piece she edits.
Known for her precision and dedication to the truth, Sophia thrives in the fast-paced world of news editing. At TheArchivists, she focuses on producing high-quality news content that keeps readers informed while maintaining a balanced and insightful perspective.
With a commitment to delivering impactful journalism, Sophia is passionate about bringing clarity to complex issues and amplifying voices that matter. Her work reflects her belief in the power of news to shape conversations and inspire change.