Eventually, Derek suggested that the monthly money I sent should go through a new account so it would be easier to track household expenses.
“Did you agree?”
“We thought it was still our account,” Dad said.
I closed my eyes.
That explained why none of my transfers had bounced back.
The money had been arriving.
It just wasn’t necessarily reaching my parents.
“And the house?”
Dad’s expression hardened slightly.
“Still ours.”
“You’re sure?”
“Inez will confirm it.”
“No,” he said. “I mean I’m sure.”
He reached beneath his bed and pulled out a rectangular tin box.
Inside were old property-tax receipts, insurance documents, photographs, and several yellowed envelopes.
“The deed Derek knows about is in the filing cabinet,” Dad said. “A copy.”
“And the original?”
Dad lifted the rusty key.
I looked at it again.
“What does that have to do with the original?”
He stood.
