“I’ll bet it is.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a file marked GORDON. “I was very careful to ask about other interested parties. I’m surprised, frankly. I didn’t see this coming. Do you have proof?”

“That I’m adopted? Yeah, I can show you proof.” He kept his adoption paperwork in a safe-deposit box in the Cape Cod Five Cents Savings Bank.

“If you can demonstrate you’re entitled, you’ll need to go to the clerk’s office and file a notice of an interested party, unless you just want to approach your sisters yourself?”

“I might,” he said. “Look, I’ve always loved that house. I don’t want to raise trouble. But if they plan to sell it anyway, I want to buy it. I’m entitled to do that, no matter what Ann says. Or doesn’t.”

He knew that house. He still knew that the latch to the old cellar often got stuck, and he remembered which steps to the attic creaked, and which floorboards buckled. The girls took the house for granted, letting it sit empty the way they did. Not Michael. He’d buy them out if he had to—it would be a stretch, but he just might be able to afford it. He wanted Avery to grow up there. “What else do I need to do?” Michael asked.

“I’m not your lawyer. I’m just the Realtor. And I’m apparently getting screwed on this deal.”

“That’s not my fault,” Michael said. He scooted his chair closer to her desk. “We’re both getting screwed. Please, can’t you just tell me what to do?”

Carol yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair, shook her hair loose, and gathered it all back up again into a new ponytail. She twisted it around, secured it again, and just like that she had a mound of hair on top of her head that looked exactly like the one she’d had before. “You’ll want to meet with a probate attorney. You’ll need to furnish evidence.”

“Like I said, that’s not a problem.”

He was agitated. For years anything that had to do with the Gordon family felt like a secret. Now he was telling her, a complete stranger—well, maybe not a complete stranger, if she knew Deeds—about the house he loved, the family he belonged to. He wiped the sweat off his dirty forehead. He was always sweating dirt.

“I swear, nobody cares about these old summer houses until it’s time to sell and then suddenly relatives come out of the woodwork like termites.”

“Termites. Thanks a lot.”

“You know what I mean. Look, if you’re really an heir, you have two options. You can sign onto the deed on the property or release your claim.”