“Dad, Pamela and I want to buy a house. But our credit’s not great. We can’t get approved for a mortgage on our own.”
I understood. Floyd had made some financial mistakes in his twenties. Late payments. Defaulted credit cards. Nothing criminal, just careless.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
“We found a place. Three bedrooms. Good neighborhood. But we need help with the down payment and qualifying for the loan.”
“How much help?”
He named a figure. It was most of my savings. But Martha and I had been frugal. We had enough.
Ezoic
“And,” Floyd continued, “we want you to live with us. Permanently. It’s too big a house for just the two of us. And you shouldn’t be alone.”
I thought about it. The house Martha and I had shared felt empty without her. Every room held memories that hurt.
A fresh start sounded good. Living with family sounded better.
“Okay,” I said. “I’ll help.”
Floyd smiled. Hugged me. “Thanks, Dad. This means everything.”
We went to the closing together. Floyd, Pamela, me, and the attorney—a man named Gerald Moss who specialized in real estate.
