Dennis smiled faintly. “You always did separate issues nicely.”
“Law school was expensive. I try to use it.”
I drove back to the cabin in late afternoon. The road wound through tamarack and pine, the sky darkening early the way it does in October when winter begins clearing its throat. By the time I reached the driveway, the windows of the cabin glowed amber. For a moment, before I stepped inside, I could almost believe Eleanor was waiting in the kitchen, stirring soup, asking why I looked like I had spent the day cross-examining the devil.
Instead, the cabin was quiet.
I built a fire. Then I sat with Frank’s scanned documents open on my tablet and read the life estate I had drafted twelve years earlier.
The language was clean. Precise. Unemotional.
Grantor reserves unto himself, Walter James Harmon, a life estate in and to the real property legally described herein, including the right to occupy, possess, use, maintain, access, and enjoy said property and improvements for the duration of his natural life…
Legal drafting has its own kind of poetry. It is not beautiful, but it can be faithful. Those words had waited twelve years for the moment my son forgot I had written them.
I thought about calling Kyle and telling him everything.
Then I remembered his voice.
Technically, it’s mine, Dad.
No.
Not yet.
Instead, I called him and let him believe his plan was still intact.
He answered cautiously. “Dad?”
“I wanted to let you know I won’t make a scene.”
His relief was immediate. “Thank you. Seriously. I know this is hard.”
“I understand you had your reasons.”
“I did. We did. Melissa and I have been under pressure you don’t even know.”
“I’m sure.”
“And I know you love the place, but it’s just a building, you know? The memories don’t go away because the structure does.”
Just a building.
The fireplace popped, sending a small burst of sparks against the screen.
“Of course,” I said. “Just a building.”
