Marcus arrived that evening without knocking. He walked into the guest room where I was packing the few things I’d managed to retrieve from my old office before the contractors started dismantling Jenny’s bookshelves. He had a folder under his arm.
“We need to talk,” he said.
He handed me the folder.
Eviction notice. Official letterhead. Notice to vacate. Twenty-two days.
“This is my house now, Dad. Jessica and I are starting a family. We need the space.” He crossed his arms. “You’ve got the farm. Go live there.”
“I haven’t even seen it.”
“Then you’d better go see it.”
He turned to leave, then paused. “One more thing. Don’t take anything valuable when you go. I have an inventory list. The silver, the art, Mom’s jewelry — it was all in the house, so it’s all part of the estate.”
Then he was gone.
I sat on the edge of the narrow guest bed, holding a rusted key and an eviction notice, listening to Marcus laugh about something on his phone in the hallway of what used to be my home.
Trust me, Jenny, I whispered to the empty room. What did you leave me?
The answer was two hours west, in Osage County, on a piece of land I had never visited.
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