Chapter 5: Thirty-Four Guests and One Empty Chair
On September 22, Marlene knocked on my door carrying a plate of lemon bars and a look of grave concern.
“I thought you might need these.””
“For what?””
“For whatever happens next.””
I laughed despite myself and stepped aside to let her in.
She placed the plate on the kitchen counter, then glanced at the silver frame on the dining table.
“Is that from Blythe?””
“Yes.””
Marlene read the engraving.
“OUR FIRST HOME.””
She shook her head.
“That girl has some nerve.””
I made tea while Marlene settled into her usual chair. She had been my neighbor for twenty-two years, and she knew when to speak and when to let silence do its work.
After a few minutes, she said, “Frank heard something at the marina.””
I turned from the kettle.
“What?””
“Miles has been telling people that the property transfer is just a family disagreement. He says you'll come around once you realize how much trouble you've caused.””
I poured the hot water into two cups.
“That's an interesting way to describe someone refusing to give away her house.””
“There's more. Laurelai has been asking whether the gathering can still go ahead if you don't hand over the keys.””
I sat down.
“What did Miles say?””
“He said the party was booked, the invitations were sent, and canceling now would make them look foolish.””
I stirred my tea.
“So they're more worried about appearances than the truth.””
“Seems that way.””
Marlene leaned forward.
“Eleanor, you don't have to let them come onto your property. If you want, Frank and I can help you make sure the gathering doesn't happen.””
I looked toward the window.
The beach house was only a short drive away, but I could picture it clearly. The long porch. The blue door. The white railings Nile had painted by hand.
I could picture the guests arriving, dressed in their finest clothes, expecting a celebration.
I could picture Cullen stepping out of a black car and seeing the suitcases on the lawn.
I could picture Laurelai demanding the keys.
And I could picture myself standing alone in the doorway, trying to defend my home against people who had already decided I was the obstacle.
“I don't want to cancel it,” I said.
Marlene blinked.
“You don't?””
“No.””
“Why not?””
“Because they've spent weeks telling everyone the house belongs to Cullen. They have invited people to watch him take possession of something he doesn't own.””
I set my spoon down.
“If I cancel the gathering, they will tell everyone I was unreasonable. If I hide away, they'll tell everyone I'm confused. If I hand over the keys, they'll say I finally did the right thing.””
Marlene stared at me.
“So what are you going to do?””
“I think it's time people heard the truth.””
She reached across the table and squeezed my hand.
“Then I'll be there.””
I hadn't asked her to attend, but the certainty in her voice made my eyes sting.
“Thank you.””
“Don't thank me yet. Frank is going to want to bring his notebook.””
I laughed.
“Of course he is.””
After Marlene left, I called Margaret and explained my decision.
She listened carefully.
“If you choose to be present, make sure you understand the practical risks. You have the right to control access to your property. You do not have to hand over keys, sign documents, or allow anyone inside simply because they have been invited by someone else.””
“I understand.””
“And I strongly recommend that you avoid a confrontation becoming physical. If anyone refuses to leave after being told to do so, contact the appropriate authorities rather than trying to remove them yourself.””
“I will.””
“Do you have someone who can stay with you?””
“Marlene and Frank.””
“Good. I'll prepare a written notice clarifying that you have not authorized occupancy and that no transfer has been completed. Keep a copy with you.””
I thanked her.
Before we hung up, Margaret added, “Eleanor, one more thing. You mentioned the document bearing your signature. Has Cullen sent you any original paperwork?””
“No.””
“Then don't let him surprise you with something at the gathering. If he produces a document, don't sign or acknowledge it. Ask for a copy and have it delivered to me.””
“I will.””
That evening, I sat at the dining table and wrote a list of everything I wanted to bring to the beach house.
The current property record.
The original deed.
The suspicious document.
The cream-colored envelope.
Nile's letter.
Copies of the security footage.
Margaret's written notice.
I placed everything in a sturdy folder and locked it in my desk drawer.
Then I went upstairs and opened the closet where I kept the few dresses I still wore for special occasions.
There was a navy dress Nile had bought me for our fortieth anniversary. It had simple lines, three-quarter sleeves, and tiny pearl buttons at the cuffs.
He had taken me to dinner at a restaurant overlooking the water. We had eaten grilled fish and shared a slice of chocolate cake. On the drive home, he had held my hand at every red light.
“You know what I like about you?”” he had asked.
“What?””
“You don't need to be the loudest person in the room to know who you are.””
I touched the sleeve of the dress.
“I could use that advice now,” I whispered.
The following morning, my attorney sent the written notice.
It was brief and precise. It stated that I remained the sole owner of the property, had not authorized anyone to occupy it, and had not completed any transfer of title.
I printed three copies.
One for me.
One for the house.
One for Cullen.
Then I received an email from an address I didn't recognize.
The subject line read: *Regarding the September 26 Gathering.*
The message was short.
Mrs. Mercer, I was contacted by Mr. Cullen Mercer concerning a proposed occupancy arrangement for your property. Before proceeding, I would like to confirm whether you have authorized the arrangement or signed any relevant documents.
The sender was a local event coordinator.
She had been hired to arrange the furniture, decorations, and catering for the gathering.
I called her.
“Hello, this is Eleanor Mercer.””
“Oh, Mrs. Mercer. Thank you for calling. I'm relieved to speak with you directly.””
“Why is that?””
There was a pause.
“Mr. Mercer told us the house had been transferred to him. When your name appeared on the property records, I asked for confirmation. He said the records hadn't been updated yet.””
I gripped the edge of the desk.
“He told you the property had been transferred?””
“Yes.””
“Did he provide documentation?””
“He sent a photograph of a signed document. I didn't retain it because I assumed the matter had been handled legally.””
“Could you send me any messages you still have?””
“Of course. I'm sorry to involve you in this.””
“You haven't involved me. You asked a reasonable question.””
After we ended the call, she forwarded several emails.
One contained a message from Cullen dated August 31.
*The house is already ours. My mother has agreed to the transfer, and we're just waiting for the final paperwork to be presented. Please arrange everything as though we will have full access by September 26.*
Another message came from Laurelai.
*Please make sure the front entrance is available for photographs. We want the family to have a clear view of the house when the keys are presented.*
The keys are presented.
I read the phrase several times.
They weren't planning to move their belongings into the house quietly.
They had arranged a public ceremony.
I forwarded the emails to Margaret.
Her reply came ten minutes later.
*Preserve the originals. We will discuss them at our meeting tomorrow.*
At noon, I received a call from Miles.
“Eleanor, I need to apologize.””
It was not the opening I had expected.
“Why?””
“Because I should have questioned Cullen more carefully. I believed him when he said the documents were signed.””
“Have you seen the original?””
“No.””
“Have you ever seen a document with my actual signature on it?””
“Only the photograph he showed us.””
“What did it look like?””
He sighed.
“A formal document. It had the property address, a paragraph about transferring ownership, and a signature at the bottom. Cullen said you'd signed it in June.””
“Did you keep a copy?””
“No. But I can ask him to send me the photograph again.””
“Would you?””
“Yes.””
I waited.
Then Miles said, “There's something else you should know.””
I sat down.
“What?””
“Cullen told Laurelai and me that the wedding was your idea.””
I frowned.
“What do you mean?””
“He said you had wanted to give them the beach house as a wedding present. He said you were disappointed they didn't want a large family wedding, but you understood.””
My throat tightened.
“He told you I was disappointed?””
“Yes. He said you were having trouble accepting that he was starting his own family.””
I looked toward the photograph of Nile on the mantel.
“He didn't invite me because he said I would embarrass him. Then he told you I was too ill to attend. Now he says I arranged a gift he never asked me about.””
Miles was silent.
“I know how it sounds,” he said.
“It sounds like three different stories.””
“I agree.””
“Why are you telling me this now?””
“Because Laurelai is convinced that once you see everyone gathered at the house, you'll feel obligated to give Cullen the keys. She says you won't want to make a scene in front of his friends.””
I closed my eyes.
There it was.
The purpose of the gathering.
They were counting on my embarrassment.
They were counting on the fact that I had spent my life trying to avoid uncomfortable scenes.
They believed that if they put enough people on my lawn, I would surrender simply to make the noise stop.
“Thank you for telling me,” I said.
“Eleanor, I know I haven't handled this well. But I don't want my daughter involved in something dishonest.””
“Then you need to ask her what she knows.””
“I will.””
When the call ended, I walked into the kitchen and stood at the sink.
I didn't cry.
I didn't shout.
I watched the afternoon sun move across the counter until it reached the small ceramic bowl where Nile used to keep his keys.
Then I picked up my phone and sent Cullen one message.
*I know what you've been telling people about the house. On September 26, I will be present. Bring any documents you believe prove your claim. My attorney will review them.*
His response came three minutes later.
*Fine. But don't expect me to protect you from the consequences.*
I put the phone down.
For the first time, I wasn't frightened by the threat.
I was saddened by it.
My son had spent weeks trying to frighten me into giving him a house. Now he was warning me that the consequences of refusing would be my fault.
I wondered whether he understood how much he sounded like someone who had already decided the truth was less important than getting his way.
That night, I packed the folder, my medication, a bottle of water, and Nile's letter into a canvas bag.
I laid the navy dress across the bed.
Then I sat beside it and opened an old photograph album.
There was Cullen at six, missing his front teeth.
Cullen at twelve, holding a fishing rod too large for him.
Cullen at seventeen, standing beside Nile with his arm around his father's shoulders.
And Cullen at twenty-five, the day he called to tell me he'd been promoted.
He had sounded so proud.
“Mom, I did it. I really did it.””
I had cried on the phone.
I had told him his father would have been proud.
Now I wondered how much of the man in those photographs still existed.
I closed the album.
Tomorrow, thirty-four guests would arrive at the beach house expecting to celebrate my son's new life.
I would be there to remind them that a celebration could not turn a lie into a legal fact.
But I had one question left.
May you like
Who had created the forged document?
And why was Cullen so certain that I would eventually sign whatever he placed in front of me?
