Ah. I’d forgotten that faucets weren’t for drying; the little towel rack in the pantry cupboard is for drying. Not handy, but the rule. I open the cupboard door and do as I’m told.

“I have to talk to you about your father’s will.”

I have assumed all along that he would leave everything to Adele. With probably a prize for Paul for being the son he never had. And then I think of how he grabbed Ronnie’s shirtfront, and I wonder if maybe he left me a little something, too. A memento.

“He left you the house next door. He insisted. It was your mother’s and he wanted you to have it.”

I stare at Adele; I’m certain that my mouth is open. “What?”

“I’ll tell you the truth; I didn’t want him to do that. You don’t deserve it; you cut yourself off from us. But he said that’s what he wanted.”

When I was a little kid, I fell off my bike and knocked the wind out of myself. There was that supreme moment when I felt the air go out, and I thought that I would never inhale again. This is exactly how I feel right now. I can’t get a breath. The tips of my fingers are tingling with flight or fight.

A memento. A house. Of my own.

“How do you think you can manage it from Seattle?”

The house. My inheritance. “I don’t know. I guess I’ll figure that out.” My father provided for me.

“There’s always so much to be done. You have no idea. Painting and repairing the damage done by tenants. Keeping tenants happy. Shoveling sidewalks and mowing lawns.” Adele is getting worked up.

“Who takes care of it for you now? You don’t mow and you sure don’t shovel.”

“We have a man.”

“Then I’ll have that man, too.”

“Justine, I’m not sure I can live on your father’s pension and Social Security alone. I never worked. Outside, I mean. I took care of you and Paul.”

“You took care of Paul. You tolerated me. Mostly.”

“I took care of you. Who do you think washed your clothes and cleaned up your messes? Who made sure you had new shoes at the start of the school year? Who fed you? I did, that’s who.”

“I won’t argue that you clothed and fed me, but you never cared for me.”

Adele fixes a glare on me that would ice over Medusa. “You were a sniveling little girl who refused to let me hold her. I wanted to mother you, but you kicked me. You hit me. You told me I would never be your mother. Do you remember that? Remember?” Adele’s icy eyes lock onto mine.