Chapter 1 - NINETEEN MINUTES
Jenna stared at the realtor as if the woman had walked into the wrong house.
The realtor did not blink.
Her name was Ava Collins, and I had met her two days earlier in a coffee shop six blocks from the hospital.
She had handled enough expensive coastal property to recognize entitlement when it was standing barefoot on white oak floors with a glass of pinot grigio in its hand.
Jenna looked at me first.
Then she looked at the folder in Ava's hands.
Then she looked through the sliding doors at the three people waiting beside the black SUV.
"This is some kind of joke."
"It isn't," I said.
Mark pushed away from the kitchen island.
His phone disappeared into his pocket.
That was the first time all afternoon he had looked fully awake.
"Daryl, you don't list a house without telling the family."
I glanced at him.
"I listed my house."
My mother set her wineglass down too hard.
The stem struck the granite with a sharp click.
"Stop saying it like that."
"Like what?"
"Like none of us matter."
I looked toward the patio.
Eli was still outside with the broken sailboat pressed against his chest.
Zoe stood beside him with her purple backpack hanging from one shoulder.
"Interesting choice of words," I said.
My father rubbed one hand over his jaw.
"Nobody said your kids don't matter."
I let the silence answer him.
Ava closed the folder.
"Mr. Mercer asked me to begin at two-thirty."
She checked her watch.
"It is two twenty-nine."
Jenna laughed again, but this time the sound was thin.
"Well, then he can ask you to leave."
Ava's expression remained calm.
"He could."
Jenna folded her arms.
"Good."
Ava turned to me.
"Would you like me to leave?"
"No."
Jenna's face changed.
The room changed with it.
For the first time, she seemed to understand that I was not trying to win an argument.
I had already moved past the argument.
"You cannot do this while we're staying here," she said.
"You were invited for one weekend."
"We are family."
"You told my children they weren't."
My mother stood up.
"She did not say that."
Zoe's small voice came from the patio.
"She said this summer was for real family."
Nobody turned around quickly enough to pretend they had not heard her.
My mother's mouth opened.
Then closed.
Zoe looked at me instead of any of them.
That hurt more than the insult.
She had already learned where not to look for protection.
I walked outside.
I crouched in front of her and adjusted the backpack strap.
"You and Eli are going to sit with me on the front steps for a few minutes."
"Are we in trouble?"
"No."
"Is Aunt Jenna?"
I glanced through the glass doors.
"Aunt Jenna is about to learn something."
Eli looked down at the broken mast.
He had not said another word since asking whether it could be fixed.
I put my hand on the back of his neck.
"Bring the boat."
He nodded.
When we came back inside, Ava had opened the front door for the prospective buyers.
Jenna stepped directly into the entryway.
"No."
Ava stopped.
"Excuse me?"
"No strangers are walking through our bedrooms."
"The owner authorized the showing."
"I live here."
"Temporarily," I said.
Jenna spun toward me.
"You really want to humiliate me in front of strangers?"
"You were comfortable humiliating a ten-year-old in front of his grandparents."
One of the buyers, an older man in a linen shirt, quietly looked away.
His wife looked directly at the pieces of the sailboat.
Then she looked at Eli.
Her face tightened.
I hated that strangers were showing my son more sympathy than his own relatives had.
Mark moved closer to me.
"Let's take this outside."
"We are outside your authority already."
His eyes narrowed.
"Don't get clever."
Ava took one step backward.
The photographer lowered his camera.
My father stood between us.
"Enough."
He pointed at me.
"You have made your point."
"I haven't started making it."
My mother's face went pale.
"Daryl."
I looked at Ava.
"Please begin downstairs."
Jenna planted herself in the hall.
"I said no."
Ava did not challenge her.
She simply looked at me.
That was part of why I had hired her.
She knew exactly where the legal line was.
So did I.
I took out my phone.
Jenna smiled bitterly.
"Now you're calling the police on your own sister?"
"No."
I opened the smart-home app.
Then I tapped one icon.
The front keypad beeped.
The code Jenna had been using disappeared from the access list.
The side-door code disappeared next.
The garage code followed.
Every lock in the cottage gave a quiet electronic chirp.
Mark's head turned toward the hallway.
"What did you just do?"
"Canceled guest access."
Jenna's face reddened.
"You can't lock us out."
"You are currently inside."
"Our things are here."
"You have until six to pack them."
My mother stared at me.
"You would throw your parents onto the street?"
"You have a house in Pasadena."
"That is not the point."
"It became the point when you toasted to my children not belonging here."
My father stepped closer.
"Watch your mouth."
I looked at him for a long second.
"No."
He froze.
I had spent forty-three years lowering my voice around him whenever his rose.
That habit ended in that room.
Ava cleared her throat softly.
"Mr. Mercer, one issue."
"What?"
"The buyers cannot reasonably inspect an occupied home during a family dispute."
"Understood."
Jenna smiled in triumph.
It lasted less than a second.
"We will wait on the patio while they pack," I said.
"You think we're packing?" Jenna asked.
"Yes."
"And if we don't?"
A new voice came from the doorway.
"Then you may create a much more complicated afternoon for yourselves."
Everyone turned.
A uniformed Malibu sheriff's deputy stood on the porch.
Beside him was the locksmith Jenna had tried to hire that morning.
The locksmith gave me a small nod.
Jenna's wineglass lowered.
"You called the sheriff?"
"The realtor did," I said.
Ava spoke evenly.
"Standard precaution when a listed property may involve an uncooperative occupant."
The deputy stepped inside but kept his hands relaxed near his belt.
"Who is the property owner?"
I raised my hand.
Jenna raised hers too.
That surprised me.
It surprised the deputy more.
"Both of us," she said.
I turned slowly toward her.
"What?"
Mark did not look at me.
He looked at the floor.
The deputy glanced between us.
"Do either of you have identification and title documents?"
Ava opened her folder.
"I have a certified copy of the current deed showing Daryl Mercer as sole owner."
"That's outdated," Jenna said.
Ava paused.
So did I.
My father looked at Jenna.
My mother stared at Mark.
The deputy's voice hardened by half a degree.
"Do you have another recorded deed?"
Jenna smiled at me.
Not broadly.
Not confidently.
But enough.
"I have something better."
She walked toward the guest room.
Mark caught her wrist.
"Jenna."
She pulled free.
"No."
He lowered his voice.
"Not here."
"He wanted a scene."
She pointed at me.
"He can have one."
She disappeared down the hallway.
I heard a suitcase zipper.
Then the scrape of something heavy beneath a bed.
A moment later she returned holding a cream-colored document envelope.
My name was written across the front.
Not printed.
Written.
In handwriting that looked disturbingly like mine.
Eli moved closer to me.
Ava's eyes narrowed.
Before she opened the envelope, the deputy asked everyone to step away from the entry hall.
Jenna refused at first.
She said she had every right to stand wherever she wanted in a house that belonged to the family.
The deputy repeated himself without raising his voice.
That was enough to make Mark touch her elbow.
For once, she listened to him.
My mother moved toward the dining table and sat down slowly.
My father remained standing beside her, but he no longer looked relaxed.
Ava asked the prospective buyers to wait outside near the SUV.
The older woman who had noticed Eli gave him one last concerned look before leaving the porch.
Eli noticed it too.
He moved closer to my side.
I could feel the edge of the broken sail pressing against my leg.
Zoe whispered, "Daddy, why is everybody being weird?"
I crouched beside her.
"Because grown-ups sometimes make simple things complicated."
She glanced at Jenna.
"Is the house simple?"
"Very."
"You bought it."
"Yes."
"So it's yours."
I looked at the deputy.
He heard her.
His expression did not change, but something in me almost broke at the fact that my six-year-old understood the situation more clearly than five adults in the room.
Mark crossed his arms.
"You are really going to explain property law to children now?"
"No," I said.
"I'm going to make sure they never confuse pressure with ownership."
My father scoffed.
"Everything is a lesson with you."
I looked at him.
"Today apparently needs one."
Jenna's fingers tightened around the envelope.
She had expected anger from me.
What unsettled her was procedure.
A realtor.
A deputy.
A locksmith.
A schedule.
Things she could not interrupt by becoming the loudest person in the room.
She glanced toward Mark again.
He gave her the smallest shake of his head.
I saw it.
Ava saw it too.
That was when I realized the envelope was not a spontaneous family keepsake Jenna had suddenly remembered.
They had discussed when to use it.
They had probably discussed what reaction they wanted from me.
I put one hand on Eli's shoulder.
Whatever was inside that envelope, I decided I would not give them the reaction they had rehearsed for.
Jenna pulled out four stapled pages.
"You signed this last Christmas."
"I signed nothing last Christmas."
"You were drinking."
"I don't drink."
Her smile disappeared for one beat.
Then came back.
"Fine."
She handed the pages to the deputy.
"Read it."
The deputy scanned the first page.
Ava leaned slightly closer.
I could see the title from where I stood.
FAMILY COASTAL PROPERTY AGREEMENT.
My stomach went cold.
The deputy looked at the final page.
Then he looked at me.
At the bottom was a signature.
Daryl Mercer.
Under it were two witness signatures.
One belonged to my mother.
The other belonged to my father.
And beside them was a notary seal.
Jenna folded her arms.
"Still want everyone out?"
I looked at my parents.
May you like
Neither of them could meet my eyes.
That was when I understood that the broken sailboat was not the ugliest thing my family had brought into my house.
