My name is Claire. I am thirty-seven, and that house is the last real piece of my mother I have left.
« The lake house isn’t sitting empty. »
At home, my husband Daniel had been quieter than usual that spring. He kept mentioning things in an offhand way that never quite landed lightly.
« You know, babe, we’ve got a lot of assets just sitting empty, » he said one night, chewing slowly.
« The lake house isn’t sitting empty. I’m there almost every weekend. »
« I just mean, financially. With the mortgage, and this new business idea I’ve been telling you about. »
« Daniel, please. Not tonight. »
She treated our house like a hotel lobby.
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