At first, I thought somebody had died.
Marlene walked onto my porch carrying a folder.
“We consulted a lawyer,” she announced with a smile. “And it’s already decided.”
“What’s decided?”
“This house is family property now.”
I stared at her. “No, it isn’t.”
Keith brushed past me carrying a cardboard box.
I stepped directly in front of the doorway. “Put that down.”
He laughed casually. “Don’t be dramatic, Diane.”
Marlene opened the folder and removed a printed document. It wasn’t a court order. It wasn’t a deed. It was some ridiculous “family occupancy agreement” they apparently typed themselves, claiming that because Mom lived with me for eight months before she died, the house “morally belonged to all surviving children.”
