I know exactly who’s living there. Four renters paying you $2,000 each plus you and Nola. That’s $8,000 a month you’ve been making from my property.
Another silence.
Mom, listen. We can work this out. You don’t understand the situation.
Then explain it to me.
I heard him take a deep breath.
The house needed work. The roof was leaking. The furnace was making noises. We had to put money into it to keep it from falling apart. The renters are helping us cover those costs.
Margaret was furiously scribbling notes and shaking her head. She wrote lies in big letters and showed it to me.
Randall, I had the roof repaired 2 years ago and the furnace was serviced just before I left for Florida.
Well, there were other issues and anyway, the renters are students. They needed housing and we were helping them out.
While helping yourselves to $8,000 a month.
It’s not that simple.
His voice was rising.
Mom, you have no idea how expensive everything is now. Nola lost her job last month and my hours got cut at the insurance company. We needed the income.
For a moment, I felt a flicker of the old sympathy.
My son was struggling financially. That was something I could understand.
But then I remembered the nursing home bills, the way they dismissed my concerns, the complete lack of respect for my wishes.
So, you decided to solve your financial problems by stealing my house.
I didn’t steal anything. You’re my mother. When you die, the house comes to me anyway. I’m just managing it early.
The callousness of that statement took my breath away.
When I die, Randall. I’m not dead. I’m not even sick.
But you’re old, Mom. You could die anytime. Car accident, heart attack, stroke. At least this way. I’m making sure the house is being taken care of.
Margaret grabbed the phone from my hand.
This is Margaret Sullivan, Mrs. Henderson’s legal adviser. You have 30 days to vacate the property and return all of Mrs. Henderson’s belongings, as specified in the cease and desist order.
Who the hell are you?
Randall’s voice was loud enough that I could hear it clearly.
I’m a retired attorney who’s seen plenty of sons like you. You’re not the first person to think they could manipulate an elderly parent out of their home.
This is none of your business.
It became my business when your mother asked for my help. Now you can either comply with the legal notice or we can proceed with formal eviction proceedings. Your choice.
Margaret handed the phone back to me.
Randall was sputtering with rage.
Mom, you can’t let some stranger turn you against your own family.
My family turned me against my family, I said quietly. Margaret is just helping me stand up for myself.
This is ridiculous. You can’t throw us out on the street.
You threw me out for a dog, I reminded him. a dog that’s now chained in my front yard.
By the way, Duke needs exercise. Duke needs a new home along with your four renters and you.
I could hear Nola in the background, her voice shrill with panic.
Then Randall came back on the line.
Mom, let’s meet somewhere and talk about this like adults. Just you and me. No lawyers.
Margaret was shaking her head vigorously, but I found myself considering it.
Maybe if I could make Randall understand how much he’d hurt me, he’d realize what he’d done wrong.
Okay, I said. Tomorrow morning, 10:00 at Denny’s on Route 9.
Good. And Mom, don’t bring the lawyer.
After I hung up, Margaret looked at me with disappointment.
Bula, that man is going to try to manipulate you.
I know, but I need to look him in the eye and tell him how this has made me feel. Maybe he’ll understand. And if he doesn’t, then at least I’ll know I tried.
The next morning, I arrived at Denny’s 15 minutes early and chose a booth where I could see the parking lot.
Margaret had wanted to come with me, but I’d insisted on going alone. Some conversations needed to happen between just a mother and her son.
Randall arrived exactly on time, but he didn’t come in immediately.