PART 3 — “MARK, DID YOU WATCH ME SIGN THIS?”

Alicia recovered first.

She always did.

“That isn’t what it looks like.”

Thomas Reed leaned back in his chair.

“I haven’t said what it looks like.”

Alicia opened her mouth.

Then closed it.

I kept looking at the signature.

My signature.

Or somebody’s careful imitation of it.

Mark reached for the page.

Thomas covered it with his hand.

“Don’t.”

Mark froze.

“Why?”

“Because until I know where this came from, nobody handles it unnecessarily.”

Alicia gave a nervous laugh.

“Oh, please. You’re making this sound criminal.”

Thomas looked at her.

“I haven’t used that word either.”

That shut her up again.

I turned toward my son.

“Mark.”

He looked miserable.

“Did you watch me sign this?”

“No.”

The answer came quickly.

Too quickly?

I couldn’t tell anymore.

“Did Alicia tell you I signed it?”

He glanced at his wife.

That glance told me something.

“Yes.”

Alicia’s chair scraped backward.

“Because you did.”

I looked at her.

“When?”

“At our house.”

“When?”

“Last month.”

“What day?”

She hesitated.

“Tuesday.”

“There were four Tuesdays last month.”

Her eyes narrowed.

“I don’t remember the exact date.”

Thomas spoke without raising his voice.

“I do.”

Everyone looked at him.

He tapped the bottom of the page.

“This document is dated October eighth.”

My stomach tightened.

October eighth.

I didn’t need a calendar.

I remembered exactly where I’d been.

I looked at Mark.

“So do you.”

His face changed.

“Mom—”

“Where was I October eighth?”

Alicia frowned.

“How would he remember?”

Mark whispered, “Charleston.”

I nodded.

“My sister Ruth had her hip replaced.”

I had spent six days with her.

Thomas looked at the document.

“According to this, Dorothy signed it here in town on October eighth.”

Nobody moved.

Then Alicia said something that surprised me.

“Bruce handled that.”

Thomas’s eyes lifted.

There it was.

Bruce.

The realtor who had supposedly visited my home twice to admire my crown molding.

Thomas closed the folder.

“Bruce what?”

Alicia realized her mistake.

“I mean—”

“What did Bruce handle?”

“Nothing.”

Thomas waited.

Alicia looked at Mark.

Mark looked back at her.

And suddenly something passed between them that frightened me more than their argument.

They were deciding which lie to tell.

I had seen Raymond and Mark do the same thing when Mark broke our garage window at fourteen.

Back then, it had been almost funny.

Today it wasn’t.

Finally Mark said, “Bruce gave us some paperwork.”

“What paperwork?” I asked.

“For planning.”

“For whose planning?”

No answer.

Thomas opened his briefcase.

He removed a yellow legal pad.

Then he wrote one word across the top.

BRUCE.

Alicia stared at it.

Thomas capped his pen.

“I’m going to recommend that Dorothy sign absolutely nothing today.”

“We drove all the way over here for nothing?” Alicia snapped.

The second the words left her mouth, she knew she’d made another mistake.

I looked at her.

“I thought you were just in the neighborhood.”

Silence.

Thomas lowered his eyes.

I think he was hiding a smile.

Mark rubbed both hands over his face.

“Alicia, let’s go.”

“No.”

Her voice sharpened.

“We need to settle this.”

Settle.

Not discuss.

Not consider.

Settle.

I remembered another line from 7:26 that morning.

The minute she’s settled at Silver Meadows, we list her place.

I kept my expression soft.

“What exactly needs settling?”

Alicia looked directly at me.

And for the first time, the sweetness disappeared.

“This can’t continue forever, Dorothy.”

Mark whispered, “Alicia.”

“No. Someone has to say it.”

She pointed around my kitchen.

“You live alone in a house that’s too large for you. Mark worries constantly. We have our own expenses. The twins start college soon. We’re trying to plan everyone’s future.”

I stared at her.

“Everyone’s?”

She realized what she’d said.

Thomas did too.

He opened the folder again.

“Speaking of everyone’s future…”

He pulled out a glossy sheet from beneath the legal documents.

It wasn’t from Silver Meadows.

It wasn’t legal paperwork either.

It was a property valuation.

My address was printed across the top.

Underneath were photographs.

Front porch.

Driveway.

Backyard.

Living room.

Kitchen.

My bedroom.

I stopped breathing for a moment.

The photographs had been taken inside my house.

Thomas slowly placed the sheet in front of me.

At the bottom was a familiar name.

Bruce Keller.

And beside it:

Suggested Listing Price: $184,900.

I looked toward Alicia.

Then Mark.

Neither spoke.

I touched the photograph of my bedroom.

And suddenly I remembered Bruce’s second visit.

Alicia had brought him over while I was baking cookies.

At one point she’d asked me to check whether I had more flour in the pantry.

I had been gone perhaps three minutes.

Three minutes.

Apparently that had been enough.

I removed my glasses.

“Thomas.”

“Yes?”

“I think I’d like to know exactly how long they’ve been trying to sell my house.”

Thomas nodded.

“So would I.”

Across the table, Mark whispered something.

So quietly I almost missed it.

“Alicia told me Dorothy knew.”

Alicia spun toward him.

“Mark.”

But my son was staring at the photographs.

And this time the fear on his face looked real.

Because somewhere between the forged-looking signature and the photographs of my bedroom,

Mark had finally begun to understand something.

Maybe Alicia hadn’t told him everything.

The problem was—

neither had I.