Chapter 2 - THE HOUSE THAT WASN’T SUSAN’S TO GIVE
Michael’s wife, Michelle, had bought the Brentwood house before they married.
She had worked nights as an ICU nurse at Vanderbilt and saved for years.
After Michael moved in, they refinanced together, but Michelle remained fiercely protective of one thing.
“If anything happens to me,” she once told him, “Emma keeps her home.”
At the time, Michael laughed nervously and told her nothing was going to happen.
Then Michelle died from a pulmonary embolism eight months after their adoption of Emma became final.
She was thirty-three.
Michael had spent the following two years functioning on exhaustion.
Susan stepped in.
She picked Emma up from school.
She paid bills.
She sorted mail.
She reminded Michael about insurance renewals.
He thought his mother was keeping his family together.
Now canceled mortgage checks were lying across his kitchen floor.
“How far behind are we?” he asked.
Susan crossed her arms.
“We aren’t losing the house.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
Emma stood behind him.
Michael lowered his voice.
“How far?”
“Three payments.”
His stomach dropped.
“I transferred the money.”
“I know.”
“Then why weren’t the payments made?”
Susan glanced at Emma.
“Can we discuss adult matters without an audience?”
Michael turned.
“Emma, honey, go pick out pajamas.”
She hesitated.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah?”
“Am I in trouble?”
That question hurt more than anything Susan had said.
“No. Never for this.”
When Emma disappeared upstairs, Michael locked eyes with his mother.
“Where did my mortgage money go?”
Susan looked toward the boxed dolls.
Then toward the burgundy envelope.
“Dana needed help.”
Michael laughed once because the alternative was shouting.
“You gave my mortgage money to Dana?”
“She has two daughters.”
“So do I.”
Susan’s expression hardened.
“You have one adopted child.”
May you like
Michael stared at her.
And suddenly the canceled checks were not the most frightening thing in the room.
