Chapter 9 - Fourteen Days of War)
The first day of Fiona's fourteen-day deadline was quiet.
Too quiet.
She packed nothing.
She made no calls where Shannon could hear them.
She drove the children to school.
She made dinner.
She cleaned the kitchen.
She acted like the perfect houseguest Shannon had originally welcomed eighteen months earlier.
That frightened Shannon more than another argument would have.
On day two, Fiona announced she'd found a job interview.
Shannon looked up from her coffee.
"Good."
Fiona seemed disappointed.
"That's all?"
"What do you want me to say?"
"I don't know. Maybe good luck."
"Good luck."
Fiona narrowed her eyes.
"You really don't care anymore."
"I care. I'm just not converting caring into paying."
Fiona left.
That afternoon Elaine called twice.
Shannon didn't answer.
Robert sent one text.
I know we owe you an explanation.
Shannon replied:
Then explain.
He didn't.
On day three, Shannon met with a real-estate attorney.
She brought copies of the title-service receipts and everything she knew.
The attorney confirmed that the county records did not show a transfer.
No beneficiary deed had been recorded.
No lien appeared.
Nothing legally altered Shannon's ownership.
Relief came first.
Then anger.
"Can someone file something without me knowing?"
"Depending on the document, attempts can occur. That doesn't mean they'd hold up. Keep monitoring your records."
"Should I change anything?"
"Secure your documents. Consider a title alert service. And if you believe anyone has copied your signature, treat that seriously."
Shannon thought about the unlocked document drawer.
"Copied?"
"Do you have reason to suspect that?"
"I don't know."
That became the sentence of the week.
I don't know.
She didn't know what Fiona had done.
She didn't know what her parents knew.
She didn't know why they had supported a plan involving the house.
She didn't know whether the draft had been the beginning or end of it.
On day four, the children learned the deadline was real.
Noah confronted Shannon in the backyard.
"Mom says we have ten days."
Shannon set down the garden hose.
"Your mom has known since Saturday."
"Where are we going?"
"I don't know."
His face hardened.
"How can you not know?"
"Because your mom is making that decision."
"She said we might have to change schools."
Shannon's stomach twisted.
"I'm sorry."
"You can stop it."
"Yes."
Noah looked hopeful.
Shannon continued.
"But stopping it would mean things stay the same."
He stared at her.
Shannon crouched beside him.
"You're old enough to understand something. Loving someone doesn't always mean saying yes."
Noah looked away.
"You don't love Mom."
"She's my sister."
"That's not what I said."
Shannon swallowed.
"I love her. I'm also angry with her."
"Can both happen?"
"Yes."
Noah kicked at a stone.
"Mom says families aren't supposed to keep score."
Shannon almost smiled sadly.
"She's right about some kinds of score."
"Then why did you count money?"
"Because promises matter too."
He didn't answer.
After a while he asked:
"Did Mom steal from you?"
Shannon's chest tightened.
"Who said that?"
"I heard Grandma."
Shannon closed her eyes.
The adults were failing these children in every direction.
"Noah, that is between your mom and me."
"She didn't, right?"
Shannon refused to lie.
"Some things happened that we need to work through."
Noah nodded slowly.
Then he asked:
"Will I still see you?"
That nearly destroyed her.
Shannon hugged him.
"Of course."
On day five, Fiona got the job.
Part-time administrative work at a medical office.
Twenty-eight hours a week.
The schedule aligned with school.
It wasn't enough to solve everything, but it was something.
Shannon congratulated her sincerely.
Fiona looked almost angry about it.
That evening Robert came over.
He stood outside rather than entering.
"Your mother isn't speaking to me."
"Why?"
"Because I told her we have to tell you."
Shannon waited.
Robert looked at the house.
"Do you remember Aunt Caroline?"
"Your sister?"
"Yes."
"Obviously."
Caroline had died when Shannon was nineteen.
She had never married.
She had adored both Shannon and Fiona.
"What about her?"
Robert rubbed his hands together.
"The money you used for your down payment."
Shannon frowned.
"My savings?"
"Part of it."
"Dad, I saved seventy thousand dollars."
"I know."
"What are you saying?"
"There was another twenty-five."
Shannon stared at him.
Then she remembered.
Her parents had given her money shortly before she bought the house.
They told her it came from a family investment account established for both daughters, but Fiona had used her portion years earlier during her wedding.
Shannon's portion remained.
"That was mine."
"It was."
"So?"
Robert looked toward the driveway.
"Caroline created the account."
Shannon waited.
"She left instructions."
"What instructions?"
"That any remaining money should eventually benefit the next generation."
Shannon frowned.
"What does that have to do with my house?"
"Your mother interpreted it very literally."
"Meaning?"
"When you used the twenty-five thousand as part of the down payment, she started thinking part of the house represented Caroline's money."
Shannon stared at him.
"That's ridiculous."
"I know."
"Do you?"
"Yes."
"Because apparently everyone had meetings about my property."
Robert winced.
"Fiona was scared about the children. Your mother suggested maybe you could put them on a beneficiary deed."
"And you?"
"I said if you wanted to, it could be a nice thing."
Shannon laughed without humor.
"A nice thing."
"I never agreed anyone should prepare documents without you."
"But you gave Fiona my insurance page."
"Yes."
"Why?"
"She said the preparer needed property details so she could show you a completed example."
Shannon stared.
"You believed that?"
"I wanted to."
That answer was painfully honest.
Robert continued.
"I thought if the paper existed, we'd talk about it as a family."
"No. You thought if the paper existed, it would be harder for me to refuse."
Robert looked down.
Shannon felt tears burn behind her eyes.
"You all treat my no like a problem to solve."
"I'm sorry."
"For which part?"
"All of it."
She believed him.
That didn't fix it.
Robert reached into his jacket and handed her an envelope.
"What's this?"
"Copies."
"Of what?"
"Documents Fiona showed us."
Shannon opened the envelope.
A draft beneficiary deed.
Her address.
Her legal name.
The children's names.
Nothing signed.
Then a second page.
An acknowledgment form.
At the bottom was a handwritten sample signature.
Shannon stared.
It looked like hers.
Not perfectly.
But close.
Too close.
Her voice dropped.
"Dad."
"I know."
"Who wrote this?"
Robert swallowed.
"Fiona said the document preparer wanted an example."
"An example of my signature?"
"She said it wasn't going to be used."
Shannon looked at him.
"Who wrote it?"
Robert didn't answer.
He didn't need to.
The shape of the S was wrong.
But the final curve of Mercer was familiar.
May you like
Shannon had seen it on birthday cards her entire life.
Her mother had practiced Shannon's signature.
