Chapter 8 - The plan they told themselves was kind
Carla went first.
She said:
“Ernest, this house is becoming too much for you.”
I looked around my kitchen.
“What part?”
“The yard. Maintenance. Stairs.”
“One staircase.”
“You almost fell in March.”
I had slipped on the last basement step carrying detergent.
No injury.
Still true.
She continued:
“You forget bills.”
“Twice.”
“You left the stove on.”
Once.
For ten minutes.
Soup simmering.
I had been in the garage.
Again:
True.
This was why the conversation hurt.
Carla did not invent every concern.
She weaponized ordinary age.
Louis finally spoke.
“We thought maybe a community would be better eventually.”
“Eventually?”
He rubbed his face.
“Dad, not tomorrow.”
“Hearthstone took money for nine months.”
He looked at Carla.
She said:
“The retainer holds planning support. That’s all.”
“With my money.”
“I was going to pay it back.”
“When?”
Silence.
Always that future responsible person.
I asked:
“Did you reserve a room?”
Carla:
“No room. We toured places.”
“We?”
Louis answered:
“Two.”
“Without me.”
“We were trying to understand options before upsetting you.”
I laughed.
Loud.
“Before upsetting me.”
Carla’s face hardened.
“This is exactly why.”
“Why what?”
“You make every practical conversation emotional.”
I stared at her.
Then:
“You served me dog food at my birthday.”
“That was Louis.”
“You filmed it.”
Silence.
Louis said:
“Stop.”
I looked at him.
“No. You stop.”
He flinched.
First time I had spoken to him like that since he was a teenager.
I continued:
“You moved into my house because you needed help. Somewhere along the way, you decided I was the dependent.”
Louis said:
“You are.”
“No.”
“Dad.”
“No.”
Then I asked the question neither wanted.
“Were you planning to sell this house?”
They both answered at once.
May you like
“No.”
Too fast.
