Weber was dressed like he’d been at the zoning board hearing in jeans and a blazer. He offered a firm, friendlyhandshake. She dropped a look at his card. Charles Weber, Jr. He’d probably grown up buying and selling property, putting up developments. This was just one more deal to him and his family.
“Coffee?” she said. She wasn’t sure about the protocol for a visit like this, but she’d put on a fresh pot just in case. Coffee might make it feel like a neighborly chat instead of a sales pitch.
“No thanks, I’m good. Already had too much this morning.” She saw him look around, take in the worn floorboards, her dad’s muddy shoes under the hallway table. How shabby the house had become.
“Dad,” she said, leading Weber into the family room. Her dad had settled in front of the TV a little sooner than she’d anticipated. She’d wanted to have this conversation in the kitchen where he wouldn’t be distracted but asking him to move now would only irritate him.
“This is Chuck Weber from Weber Properties. He wants to talk to us. Can you turn off the TV?”
Her dad gave Weber a suspicious look and reluctantly clicked off the TV. “What’s this about?” he said.
Weber set a business card on the coffee table and took a seat on the couch across from her father. “How are you today, Mr. Linden?”
“I’m fine.” Her dad glanced at Cassie, who couldn’t quite meet his eyes. She glanced out the window, where the trees were bursting with the incandescent green of early spring.
“Dad, Mr. Weber is developing the Kingsley property. You know, next to ours.”
Weber gave her a puzzled look.
“That’s what we’ve always called it,” she said, a little embarrassed she’d used the family nickname. “It used to be owned by people named Kingsley.”
“Ah, I see,” Weber said. “Well, as you probably know, Mr. Linden, we’re planning to build luxury homes there.” He extended a glossy flyer, but Cassie’s dad didn’t take it. Weber set it next to his card. “Very tasteful,” he went on, “in keeping with the character of the neighborhood. We’ve built a lot of homes in Laurelton, maybe you’re familiar with the Running Brook development. That’s one of ours.”
Her dad looked at him blankly. “Never heard of it.”
“Over on Cross Ridge, up near the New York line?” Weber looked at him expectantly, but her dad was beginning to seem bothered, like a bee was buzzing his head. “What does that have to do with me?”
Cassie swallowed. Andrew and her dad had made progress on the dinosaur puzzle. The volcano was mostly filled in and they’d started on the greenery, which gave it a promising look. Small activities with lots of help, that’s what her dad could handle now. The less frustration the better. “They’re interested in this property too,” she said, her mouth dry.
Weber smoothed his jeans, taking this as his cue. “Mr. Linden, we envision extending the development to include your property. As I’m sure you’re aware, it abuts the project and we’d like to be able to go all the way to Southington Road, which will allow us to include common space. Buyers appreciate that now. The zoning board has given us the go ahead and we anticipate the town council will approve as well. It’s just a formality at this point.”
Her dad looked bewildered. “What’s he talking about?”
Cassie swallowed around the lump in her throat. “They want to buy the house, Dad.”
“Mr. Linden.” Weber leaned forward. “We’re prepared to make you a very attractive offer.”
“Sell the house?” Her dad looked at Cassie. “To who?”
Cassie felt a creeping shame that she’d put this in motion. But if not now, when? Her dad was still competent enough to make decisions but soon he might not be. “To Weber Properties, Dad. That’s why Mr. Weber is here. Let’s just listen to what he has to say.”
“Mr. Linden, we can offer you three million dollars. That’s substantially more than the house, even with five acres, would get on the market. It’s a generous offer.”
Her dad’s face had gone blotchy. He tried to push himself off the chair, but his cane was out of reach. “This house isn’t for sale. I don’t know why you thought that.”
“Dad, it’s a lot of money,” Cassie said. “We should at least think about it.” She’d done some research. Three million was a very good price. Weber didn’t want to fool around; he wanted the property.
“There might be some wiggle room in that offer.” Weber didn’t seem perturbed. “I could go to three-two.”
Her dad glared at Weber. “Young man, we’ve lived in this house for…for—” He looked to Cassie for help.
“Fifty-five years,” she sighed, “but you don’t need this much house. Three-point-two million is a lot of money. You’d be very comfortable.”
“I’m comfortable now.” Her dad scowled at Weber then Cassie. “Did you invite him here?”
“I thought we could talk about it,” she said miserably.
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Her dad managed to get hold of his cane and shoved out of the chair, swaying precariously until he regained his balance.
