I stared.
Paula read from her notes.
“Judith Larsen. Needs gutters replaced. Saw the comments and wants the fellow who carried his grandma.”
For a moment, I couldn’t speak.
Then I laughed once.
Not because anything was funny.
Because the whole situation was so strange that laughter was the only thing that came naturally.
Paula smiled.
“She sounded like a real customer.”
I nodded.
“Then we’ll give her a real estimate.”
The phone rang again.
A man in West Salem.
Then another call from Onalaska.
Then a woman who’d been meaning to replace her downspouts for two years and decided it was time.
By midafternoon, Paula had nineteen new estimate requests.
By evening, thirty-one.
Some callers mentioned Grandma.
Others simply said they’d seen our business name in the community discussion and liked the photographs of our work.
A few had actual drainage problems that needed attention before winter.
One older gentleman called only to tell me he remembered Pearl from church.
He spent ten minutes describing the way she used to bring food to families after someone became ill.
Before hanging up, he mentioned that his garage gutters had been overflowing.
Paula scheduled an estimate.
When I looked at the list, I felt grateful.
But also uneasy.
I didn’t want Grandma’s funeral turned into an advertising campaign.
So I told Paula we would handle the requests exactly as we handled every other customer.
Fair estimates.
Honest schedules.
No promises we couldn’t keep.
She nodded.
“That’s why people are calling, Fletch.”
I looked at her.
“What do you mean?”
She smiled.
“They’ve seen what kind of man you are.”
I sat quietly.
For years, I’d tried to make peace with the fact that Mom believed the worst about me.
Now strangers were looking at the same story and seeing something entirely different.
Mom deleted her post that evening.
By then, people had already read it.
Some had saved screenshots.
The comments continued circulating through local community pages.
The woman who’d originally thanked Mom for the warning returned to correct herself.
I didn’t respond.
I’d already said everything I needed to say.
The next morning, Paula looked through the front window.
“Fletch.”
I looked up.
Mom’s car was in the parking lot.
I stood.
Erica was at her desk.
When she saw the vehicle, she went still.
I looked toward Paula.
“Keep working. I’ll speak with her outside.”
I walked to the front door and stepped onto the concrete entryway.
Then I closed the door behind me.
Mom stood beside her car wearing her church coat.
She looked tired.
Her purse was held tightly against her stomach.
“I want to see Erica.”
I nodded.
“She’s working.”
“I want her to come home.”
“She’s thirty-four, Mom. She can decide where she wants to live.”
Mom’s expression tightened.
“You’ve turned her against me.”
I took a breath.
“No.”
She looked toward the office windows.
“She was perfectly happy before you interfered.”
I studied her.
Erica had been living in her childhood bedroom after her marriage ended.
She’d needed a job.
She’d found one.
Now she was earning money, learning a new role, and beginning to make decisions about her own future.
I didn’t see how that was something a mother should be afraid of.
“Mom, Erica applied for this job without knowing I owned the company.”
She shook her head.
“That’s what you say.”
“Paula interviewed her.”
“I don’t believe this was an accident.”
I looked toward the door.
Through the glass, I could see Erica at her desk.
She wasn’t hiding.
She wasn’t coming outside either.
She simply continued working.
I turned back toward Mom.
“She’s doing well here.”
Mom folded her arms.
“She’s my daughter.”
I took a breath.
“And Grandma was yours.”
For a moment, her expression changed completely.
She looked away.
Then whispered, “You don’t know what she did to me.”
I studied her.
“I know she refused to give you forty thousand dollars.”
Mom’s eyes filled.
“She had the money.”
“She needed it for her care.”
Mom shook her head.
“She had plenty left.”
I took a breath.
“Ask LaVern.”
Her expression tightened.
“What?”
“Ask him where the farm money went.”
She looked at me for a long moment.
Then glanced toward the office again.
Erica looked up.
Their eyes met through the glass.
For the first time, Mom seemed to understand that her daughter was choosing not to come outside.
Not because I’d ordered her to stay.
Because she wanted to remain at work.
Mom turned toward her car.
She opened the door.
Then paused.
For a moment, I thought she might say something.
Instead, she got inside.
She sat behind the wheel for nearly a minute before driving away.
I watched until her car disappeared.
Then I returned to the office.
Erica sat down slowly.
“You okay?” I asked.
She nodded.
Then shook her head.
“I don’t know.”
I pulled out the chair beside her desk.
She looked at me.
Then said, “Paula told me there’s an apartment available in her building.”
I smiled.
“That’s good.”
“It’s affordable. I could move in after my second paycheck.”
I nodded.
“Sounds like a plan.”
She looked toward the window.
Then whispered, “I think I’m ready to leave Mom and Dad’s house.”