Then whispered.
“So your father borrowed against the station to pay for a lawyer who helped Chance promise me that station.”
I nodded.
“That’s about the size of it.”
She gave a short, disbelieving laugh.
Then stopped.
For several seconds, neither of us spoke.
Finally, she said something quietly.
“I thought I was being reasonable.”
I looked toward her.
She continued.
“I let Chance keep the house because he said he’d be able to pay me once the business transferred.”
Her eyes filled.
“I worked for years helping with that mortgage. I trusted the agreement.”
I took a breath.
“Brandy, your claim is against Chance. Not against this station.”
She nodded.
“My attorney said the same thing.”
For a moment, she looked tired enough to fall asleep standing up.
Then she folded the documents carefully.
“I don’t want to take anything from you, Ian.”
I looked toward her.
“I know.”
She hesitated.
“I just want what he agreed to pay.”
I nodded.
“Then he needs to answer for that.”
Before leaving, she gave me copies of the relevant pages with her attorney’s permission.
I promised to keep them private except where necessary to address the family dispute.
Then I stood behind the counter after she drove away, staring at Chance’s handwriting.
Christmas.
The station.
The promise.
The deadline.
Everything finally made sense.
Mom wasn’t pushing me to give up the business simply because she preferred Chance.
She was trying to solve the financial obligation he’d created by promising property that hadn’t belonged to him.
And the deadline was almost here.
The next afternoon, I drove to the grain elevator.
Chance was in the scale house eating lunch.
He looked up when I entered.
“What do you want?”
I placed a copy of the financial statement on the desk.
He glanced at it.
Then became very still.
“Where’d you get that?”
“Brandy.”
His expression tightened.
“She shouldn’t be showing you our divorce paperwork.”
I looked toward him.
“It’s her document, too.”
He folded his arms.
Then said something that reminded me of every argument we’d had since childhood.
“You’re enjoying this.”
I shook my head.
“No. I’m trying to understand why you’re asking Mom to make me give away a business I purchased.”
He glanced toward the page.
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
Then he said.
“Dad always said it would be mine.”
I nodded.
“He did.”
“So I planned around that.”
I looked toward him.
“Chance, you told Brandy you would own it by Christmas. You never had a signed transfer agreement. Dad never gave you a deed.”
He stared.
I continued.
“You made a financial commitment based on something that hadn’t happened.”
He looked toward the window.
Then muttered.
“It was supposed to happen.”
I took a breath.
“That doesn’t make it yours.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then I told him the deadline was approaching and that he needed to explain the situation honestly to Dad.
Chance laughed.
“You’re going to tell on me?”
I looked directly at him.
“I’m giving you the chance to tell him yourself.”
He studied me.
Then asked.
“And if I don’t?”
I took a breath.
“Then I’ll show him the document when the family asks me to sign away my property.”
Chance leaned back.
For a moment, he looked almost amused.
“You’ve always been the quiet one, Ian.”
I nodded.
“Yeah.”
He smiled.
“You won’t do anything.”
I picked up my copy of the statement.
Then stood.
“I bought a gas station, Chance.”
For a moment, he didn’t answer.
I left.
He didn’t tell Dad.
Instead, Mom called and arranged a family meeting at Chance’s house.
She wanted me there on Sunday afternoon.
“Bring a pen,” she said.
I looked toward the phone.
“What for?”
“We’ve prepared paperwork.”
I asked what kind.
She told me it was a deed.
A transfer of the station to Chance for one dollar.
I closed my eyes.
For a moment, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.
Then I said I’d attend.
Not because I intended to sign.
Because Dad needed to know what his oldest son had done.
Sunday arrived warm and windy.
Chance lived in a split-level house on the west side of town.
Brandy had painted the kitchen yellow when they were married.
The walls were still yellow.
I remembered helping them move furniture into that house years earlier.
At the time, Chance had told me it was the beginning of his independent life.
Now I wondered how much of that life had been financed by promises other people were expected to fulfill.
Mom sat at the kitchen table.
A printed deed lay in front of her.
Beside it was a pen.
And, unbelievably, an actual one-dollar bill.
Dad sat against the wall with his arms folded.
Chance paced near the refrigerator.
Mom smiled when I entered.
“Sit down, honey. This won’t take long.”
I pulled out a chair.
Then looked at the deed.
It was a generic form she’d apparently found online.
It hadn’t been prepared by an attorney.
It didn’t properly address the bank financing, business assets, licensing, or the liabilities involved.
For a moment, I almost felt sorry for her.
She genuinely believed a signature could make everything simple again.
I folded my hands.
“Before we discuss anything, I have a few questions.”
Mom nodded impatiently.
“Fine.”
I looked toward Chance.
“What’s the monthly loan payment on the station?”
He stopped pacing.
“Whatever it is, I can handle it.”
I nodded.
“It’s approximately sixteen hundred forty dollars.”
He looked away.
I continued.
“That doesn’t include insurance, utilities, fuel inventory, payroll, taxes, equipment maintenance, or the ordinary costs of running the business.”
Mom sighed.
“Ian, he can learn.”
I nodded.
“Learning takes time. It also takes permission from the lender to restructure a financed transaction.”
Dad looked toward me.
He seemed interested for the first time.
Then I asked Chance another question.
“Why do you need the station transferred before September?”
The room became quiet.
Mom frowned.
“Why does September matter?”
Chance looked toward the window.
“He’s making something out of nothing.”