Chapter 12 - The Nursery
I went upstairs alone.
Thomas’s study had been locked.
Julian found the key in Brooke’s purse after she left with Margaret.
When I opened the door, I understood why.
The walls had been painted pale green.
Thomas’s books were gone.
His framed university diploma was gone.
His photographs were gone.
A white crib stood beneath the window.
Boxes of baby furniture lined one wall.
For several seconds, I simply stared.
Brooke had begun converting my husband’s study into a nursery before telling anyone she was pregnant.
Perhaps even before she knew.
Or perhaps she had known longer than she claimed.
Either way, she never asked.
Julian appeared behind me.
“Oh God.”
“You didn’t know?”
“No.”
I believed him.
He walked inside slowly.
“Dad loved this room.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I looked at him.
“Stop apologizing for things you watched happen.”
“I didn’t watch this.”
“No.”
I touched the freshly painted wall.
“But you watched everything that made this possible.”
He lowered his head.
That afternoon, Julian packed a suitcase.
He told Brooke he was moving into a motel temporarily.
She laughed at him.
Then screamed.
Then cried.
Then threatened to keep him from the baby.
Then begged him to stay.
I heard almost all of it from downstairs.
For years, I would have intervened.
That day, I did not.
Julian was forty years old.
It was time for him to experience the consequences of his own choices without his mother arranging a softer landing.
Before leaving, he placed something on the kitchen table.
His house key.
“I know I’m legally still allowed to be here until the notice ends.”
he said.
“But I don’t want to be.”
I looked at the key.
“Where will you go?”
“Somewhere I pay for myself.”
It was the first encouraging sentence he had spoken in days.
Brooke and Margaret remained.
Sarah advised me not to stay in the house while emotions were unstable.
I returned to the hotel.
That night, at 11:17 p.m., Sarah called.
“The lender sent us the home equity file.”
I sat up.
“What did they find?”
“The application was submitted from your home internet connection.”
“That proves Brooke was involved.”
“Probably.”
Sarah paused.
“But there’s more.”
The application contained a scanned authorization for someone named Paul Renner to represent me during the closing.
“Who is Paul Renner?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Did you find him?”
“Yes.”
Sarah’s voice became cold.
“He works with Margaret.”
“In what capacity?”
“He helps distressed homeowners obtain financing.”
I understood immediately.
“What was supposed to happen after the money came through?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then Sarah said something worse.
“Clara, the closing was scheduled for December twenty-ninth.”
I checked the calendar.
May you like
Three days away.
A quarter of a million dollars had nearly been borrowed against my house while everyone distracted me with Christmas dinner.
