Chapter 5 - The Neighbor Who Kept Watching
My next-door neighbor, Mrs.
Alvarez, had lived beside Grandpa for twenty-seven years.
She stood in her garden when I pulled into the driveway and lifted one hand in greeting.
Then she saw my expression.
"Come inside," she said quietly.
Her kitchen smelled of cinnamon and fresh coffee.
She didn't waste time asking whether the rumors were true.
"Your father told the whole street you were giving the house to Paige," she said.
"I'm not."
Mrs.
Alvarez nodded as though she'd expected that answer.
"I thought so.
Walter didn't leave you that house so Gene could trade it away."
She showed me dates written in a small pocket calendar.
A moving truck had arrived in May.
An appraiser had visited in July.
Two men with cameras had walked the property in August.
And a woman who introduced herself as a real estate agent had toured the backyard in September.
"I asked Linda if they were selling," Mrs.
Alvarez said.
"She told me it was a surprise for you."
The phrase made my skin crawl.
"Did she give you a name?"
Mrs.
Alvarez handed me a business card.
A realtor named Celia Wynn.
Mara later confirmed that Celia had prepared an internal valuation, though no public listing existed.
A preliminary marketing sheet described the property as "vacant at closing."
Vacant meant they intended to remove everyone, including me.
I took the documents home and found a typed notice taped to the basement door.
BASEMENT STORAGE TO BE CLEARED BY FRIDAY.
Below it, in my mother's handwriting, were the words: Please respect the baby's space.
I read the note twice.
Somehow, my grandfather's basement had become an intrusion on an unborn child's future.
I climbed the stairs and found Linda folding linen napkins.
"Who put this on my door?"
She barely looked up.
"Paige needs the downstairs for a playroom later."
"No."
The word surprised us both.
Linda set down the napkin.
"What did you say?"
"I said no.
The basement stays as it is, and nobody touches Grandpa's things."
Her face tightened.
"You've changed."
"I finally answered you."
The silence between us was more frightening than an argument.
Then she said, almost gently, "Your grandfather was a selfish man.
He made you feel special so you would turn against your father."
I thought of Grandpa teaching me to read contracts.
"He taught me to notice when people lied."
Linda looked away.
A moment later, her phone lit up with a message.
I caught only the preview before she turned it facedown.
Celia: Buyers want a clean title by Monday.
The deadline was no longer theoretical.
May you like
Someone had already been promised my home.
