I sat very still.
“What did he say?”
“He said I should ask Mom.”
I looked down at my hands.
Miranda began crying.
“I spent twenty years thinking my brother didn’t love me.”
My throat tightened.
“I never stopped loving you.”
We talked for more than an hour.
She told me about her work, her children, and the life she’d built after leaving Florida.
I told her about Allison and our kids.
Before we ended the call, I sent photographs.
Henry holding a baseball trophy.
Maggie grinning with a missing front tooth.
Allison standing beside me in our backyard.
Miranda sent pictures of her own children.
For the first time in twenty years, I saw the family we’d both made.
It didn’t restore the years we’d lost.
But it gave us somewhere to begin.
Around that time, Homer told me he needed to move.
His knees had become increasingly troublesome, and his doctor recommended living somewhere without stairs.
He’d started considering selling my parents’ old house.
I looked around Thelma’s kitchen while he explained.
The house was single-story.
The bathroom had already been updated.
The entryway was easy to navigate.
And Homer had spent twenty years being a good neighbor.
I thought about Thelma’s note.
“Rent it to somebody who needs a decent place.”
I looked at Homer.
“What would you think about moving next door?”
He stared at me.
“Into Thelma’s?”
“Yes.”
He shook his head.
“Aaron, that’s a nice house. You could get good rent for it.”
“I know.”
He looked at me suspiciously.
“What are you planning?”
I smiled.
“Four hundred dollars a month.”
He almost spilled his coffee.
“Absolutely not.”
We argued about it for twenty minutes.
Eventually, I reminded him that he had been the person who told me the truth when I was eighteen.
He waved one hand.
“That wasn’t a favor. That was the decent thing to do.”
“Exactly.”
He looked at me.
Then he sighed.
“You’re as stubborn as Thelma.”
I smiled.
“That’s what people keep telling me.”
We prepared a proper lease.
Homer signed it at Thelma’s kitchen table.
Allison sent coffee cake.
We were discussing trash collection and maintenance when a car pulled up outside.
My mother’s silver Buick.
I watched her step onto the porch.
She opened the screen door and came into the kitchen before anyone invited her.
“Is it true?” she asked.
I stood.
“Hello, Mom.”
“You’re renting this house to Homer Dobbs?”
“Yes.”
She looked at him.
Then back at me.
“After refusing your own parents?”
I didn’t answer immediately.
Mom gestured toward Homer.
“He’s practically a stranger.”
Homer slowly removed his reading glasses.
“Colleen,” he said, “I don’t believe that’s quite accurate.”
She stared at him.
Then recognition began to show.
He reached into his cardigan pocket.
From it, he took a folded document.
He placed it on the table.
“Residential purchase agreement,” he said. “Sellers, Thomas and Colleen Bennett. Buyer, Homer Dobbs.”
He pointed to the date.
“March fourth. Twenty years ago.”
My mother’s face changed.
Homer continued.
“You signed this before Aaron ever moved out.”
The kitchen became very quiet.
Mom looked at the paper.
Then at me.
For once, she didn’t immediately have an answer.
I asked the question I’d carried for two decades.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?”
She swallowed.
“We were going to.”
“When?”
She looked away.
Then a voice came from the doorway.
Dad.
He stood on the porch beside Elroy’s bell, his hand resting on the doorframe.
“We’d already arranged to stay with your aunt in Florida,” he said quietly.
Mom turned.
“Tom.”
He didn’t stop.
“There wasn’t much room. We were taking Miranda. And we figured Aaron had Thelma.”
My chest tightened.
Mom stared at him.
“That’s enough.”
Dad looked at her.
“I’ve kept quiet about this for twenty years.”
Nobody moved.
He looked at me.
“We should have told you. We should have talked to you like you were our son instead of making you feel you had to choose.”
His voice grew rough.
“I’m sorry, Aaron.”
I looked at him.
For years, I’d imagined hearing those words.
Now that he’d said them, I didn’t know what to do with them.
“Thank you for saying that.”
Mom picked up her purse.