Part 1
She Tried to Claim the House I Had Already Protected.
“Why is she here?”
Megan’s voice carried across the living room before anyone bothered lowering the music.
I stopped three steps inside the beach house, my overnight bag still hanging from my right hand. Twenty faces turned toward me.
A man I had never seen stood beside the fireplace with one of Henry’s crystal tumblers pressed to his lips.
“Megan?” I said.
She crossed the room quickly. Her smile appeared only when she reached me.
“You came early.”
“I came when I said I would.”
Her fingers closed around the handle of my bag.
“I’ll take that.”
I held on.
For a second, neither of us moved.
“Where’s Robert?”
“He’s around.”
A child raced between us, trailing sand across the hardwood. Another jumped onto the sofa with both shoes planted on my quilt.
“Please get down from there,” I said.
The boy stared at me.
His mother laughed from the kitchen. “Tyler, honey, be careful.”
She made no move toward him.
I crossed the room and lifted the quilt from beneath his feet.
Several dark footprints marked the fabric.
“What are you doing?” Megan asked.
“Moving something before it gets ruined.”
“It’s a blanket.”
I looked at her.
“It was made from Henry’s shirts.”
Her mouth tightened.
Behind her, the mantel looked strangely empty.
My wedding photograph was gone.
A black speaker occupied its place, vibrating with bass.
“Megan, where is my photograph?”
“What photograph?”
“The one that was right there.”
She glanced toward the mantel.
“Oh. That.”
She pointed toward a side table crowded with empty bottles and paper plates.
The silver frame lay facedown beneath a stack of napkins.
I set the quilt over a chair and picked it up.
Henry’s face appeared when I turned it over.
Someone had left a greasy thumbprint across the glass.
“Who are these people?” I asked.
“Family.”
“Whose?”
Megan’s smile disappeared.
“Mine.”
A door opened in the hallway.
Robert stepped into the room holding a beer.
He saw me.
Then he stopped.
His eyes moved first to Megan, then to the bag still hanging from my hand.
“Mom.”
I waited.
He swallowed.
“We expected you tomorrow.”
“No, Robert.”
His fingers tightened around the bottle.
“I told you Friday.”
He looked at Megan again.
Neither of them corrected me.
“Mom, can we just talk for a second?”
Robert reached for my elbow, but I moved before his hand touched me.
“Talk.”
“Not here.”
I looked around the room.
People were pretending not to listen.
A woman near the windows suddenly became fascinated with her phone. Two men by the kitchen lowered their voices.
Megan folded her arms.
“Robert, don’t turn this into something.”
“I’m not.”
“You’re already doing it.”
He rubbed the back of his neck.
That was something he had done since childhood whenever he wanted someone else to make a difficult decision.
I stepped toward the windows.
Deep tire tracks cut through the hydrangeas outside.
Three branches lay flattened against the sandy soil.
“Megan.”
She followed my gaze.
“What?”
“Someone drove over Henry’s hydrangeas.”
“They’re bushes.”
“They were planted by my husband.”
Her shoulders dropped with an exaggerated sigh.
“We have a lot of people here. Parking is difficult.”
“There’s a gravel lot behind the house.”
“Nobody knew that.”
“Robert did.”
My son stared at his beer.
“Robert?”
“I should’ve told them.”
A burst of laughter came from the dining room.
Someone backed into the console table.
Glass struck wood.
I turned sharply.
The little blue vase lay on its side beside a circle of red wine.
My chest tightened.
I crossed the room and lifted it carefully.
A thin line of wine ran down its painted surface.
“Mom, it’s okay,” Robert said.
“No one asked you.”
He went silent.
I wiped the vase with my sleeve.
Megan watched me.
“It’s only a family gathering.”
I looked up.
“You keep saying family.”
“Because that’s what this is.”
A woman behind her smiled uncertainly at me.
“Megan told us you hardly use this place anymore.”
Megan’s head snapped toward her.
The woman’s smile vanished.
“I mean, during the summer,” she added.
I set the vase upright.
“This is my home.”
Nobody answered.
Then a man near the kitchen frowned.
“I thought Robert owned it.”
Megan turned toward him too quickly.
Robert finally lifted his eyes.
I watched my son’s face instead of hers.
He looked frightened.
Not surprised.
Frightened.
“There honestly isn’t any space for her.”
Megan said it while standing six feet from me.
Not quietly.
Not privately.
The room seemed to shrink around the words.
I looked at Robert.
He stared at the floor.
“Megan,” he said.
“What?”
“She just got here.”
“And?”
His jaw moved, but nothing came out.
I waited.
He could have said four words.
This is Mom’s house.
Instead, he lifted the beer and took a drink.
Megan turned back to me.
“My parents are here. My brother brought the kids. People have already settled in.”
“I can see that.”
“So you understand.”
“No.”
Her expression hardened.
“What exactly don’t you understand?”
“I don’t understand why twenty people are sleeping in my house without anyone asking me.”
A few guests began collecting cups.
Megan noticed.
“Everyone, please. She’s tired.”
“I’m standing right here.”
“I know.”
“No, Megan. I don’t think you do.”
Robert stepped between us.
“Mom, please.”
I looked at him.
“What are you asking me to do?”
He opened his mouth.
Nothing came.
Behind him, one of Megan’s relatives whispered, “I thought this was theirs.”
Another answered too softly for me to catch.
Megan heard it.
Her eyes flicked toward Robert.
Then toward me.
“Can we not embarrass everyone?”
I almost laughed.
Instead, I set my overnight bag beside my chair.
The old wicker chair had belonged to Henry.
Nobody had moved it.
That surprised me.
My hand stayed on the handle.
Robert noticed.
“Mom.”
“What?”
He glanced toward Megan before answering.
“Maybe tonight doesn’t have to become a fight.”
“Then tell me where I’m sleeping.”
His face changed.
Only slightly.
Megan stepped forward.
“We’ll figure something out.”
“Where?”
“I said we’ll figure it out.”
I held her gaze.
Robert stared toward the staircase.
It lasted less than a second.
But I saw it.
So did Megan.
She turned sharply toward him.
“Robert.”
He looked back at her.
“What?”
She said nothing.
Upstairs, a door closed.
“Who’s upstairs?”
Megan picked up an empty wineglass.
“Guests.”
“In which rooms?”
“Why are you interrogating me?”
“Because you’re avoiding the question.”
Robert placed his beer on the mantel.
His hand landed beside the empty space where my wedding photograph belonged.
“Mom, maybe we should go outside.”
“No.”
“Just for five minutes.”
“No.”
His shoulders sagged.
The music continued behind us, suddenly absurdly cheerful.
A woman carried a bowl toward the kitchen.
“Where do you want this, Megan?”
“Anywhere is fine.”
The woman nodded toward me.
“Nice meeting you.”
“We haven’t met.”
She froze.
Megan closed her eyes for a moment.
“Could you please stop?”
“Stop what?”
“Making people feel unwelcome.”
I looked around my living room.
A stranger was sitting in Henry’s chair.
Someone had moved my books from the coffee table.
Wet towels hung over the railing.
My photograph remained in my hands.
I wiped the glass once more with my thumb.
Robert watched me.
“You remember this picture?” I asked.
His eyes dropped to it.
“Yeah.”
“Your father hated that tie.”
A reluctant smile almost appeared.
“He said Grandma picked it.”
“She did.”
The smile disappeared as quickly as it came.
For one brief second, the room around us seemed farther away.
Then Megan placed the wineglass down hard.
“Robert.”
He turned.
“What?”
“We have people waiting.”
“For what?”
She stared at him.
His face tightened.
There it was again.
That hesitation.
That look between them.
I lowered the photograph.
“What are they waiting for?”
“No one is waiting for anything,” Megan said.
“Then why does Robert look like he wishes I hadn’t walked through that door?”
“Mom.”
I faced him.
“Answer me.”
He rubbed both hands over his face.
“I thought we had another day.”
Megan’s expression sharpened.
“Robert, enough.”
I watched her.
Then him.
My bag remained beside my chair.
I placed Henry’s photograph carefully on top of it.
“Another day for what?”
Neither of them answered.
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