Harold doesn't look at all concerned as he sets his briefcase down and takes a seat. Well, okay, maybe he looks sad. He and Maggie have known each other for like twenty years. But he called me kiddo and he's coming to throw me out of my home, so I refuse to feel too sorry for him.

Harold folds his hands on the table. I sit across from him. He's in Maggie's seat. I can't think of a nice way to tell him to move.

"How are you holding up, Vincent?"

Shrug. "Fine."

His eyes soften in that sympathetic you poor thing look the nurses at the hospital gave me. "I'll try not to drag this on too long..."

"I don't want to leave," I blurt. My hands are trembling a samba in my lap.

Harold stops in the middle of unclasping his briefcase. "What?"

"The house. I don't want to leave the house. Do I have to?"

"Vincent..." A soft sigh puffs past his lips. "Well, let me explain first. The situation isn't that bad."

The tightness in my chest uncoils. Just a little. "Okay."

"Maggie was pretty upside down on this place. I don't really think she intended to keep it much longer." He shuffles through a few papers and pulls some out. "This is her last will and testament. She had me update it last winter. Do you want to read it?"

He passes them over to me without waiting for an answer. The will looks depressingly like some kind of contract. I don't really see the words or understand them. Except my name. I see my name in there. A lot, actually.

"I don't understand."

"The bank will be taking the house back. I can get you sixty days before you have to be out." He slowly slides the papers out of my hands.

Out. Out on the streets? What's good about that?

"You won't have the house, but you'll have the rest of her assets. I won't lie; it isn't a lot, but it should keep you more than comfortable until you can get back on your feet."

"Assets," I repeat. "So...what, like money?"

He smiles crookedly and tips his head. "That's the gist of it, yes. Has the funeral home contacted you?" When I shake my head, he continues, "Maggie had a pre-plan. That is, she had everything for her funeral paid for ahead of time. You won't have to worry about any of that. I can take care of whatever paperwork they need if you aren't feeling up for it."

I'm relieved because I don't know what I would've done otherwise. But along the same vein, I wonder—did Maggie make all these plans because she expected she would die? Because she didn't trust me to take care of it? I guess I can't blame her. I duck my head into a nod.

Harold places a hand on my arm, mistaking my distress for grief. "Everything will be okay, kiddo."

What does he know? Maggie's dead. I have to leave my home. I'll have money to last me for awhile, but then what? Maggie wanted me to go to college, but I can't do it without her here. Why would I? It was her dream. It was what she wanted for me.