And then I tell them my plan. The one I went back and forth between so much that my head spun. The one I lost several nights of sleep over. The one I know won’t go over well, but that I think will be best for everyone.
“I’m not going to pay off the missed payments for the lake house,” I start.
The metaphorical Hello Kitty Band-Aid has been ripped off.
“You’re not—Then what’s this grand plan of yours?” Dad asks, his tone still light.
My next intake of air is shaky. Logan senses it and squeezes my hand. I glance down at my handwritten notes, waiting for oxygen to do its job. “We’re going to let the house go into foreclosure,” I say on a calmer, steadier exhale.
“Wh-What do you mean, go into foreclosure?” Dad asks, coughing out what must be his free soda. “It’s where I live. You’re not—you’re not kicking me out, are you?” He laughs a little like the idea is preposterous.
“The house is too expensive to maintain. We won’t be able to fix it up, either.”
Dad grunts. “I almost fell on those stairs the other day, though. You’re not thinking clearly. This is a mistake. You could pay for it all and then some if you wanted. You won millions!”
“I actually couldn’t.” I don’t go into specifics. “And that’s not how I want to spend the money. This isn’t my problem to fix.”
Just like Dad can’t control the outcome of the games he bets on, I can’t control him.
But this? This I can control.
“When your grandfather built the house, he didn’t think about the future,” Dad says. “He didn’t think about how hard it would be to find people who have the skills to fix real craftsmanship. Homes are built fast and cheap now, but that’s why this home is so special. It meant a lot to your mom, and it means a lot to me.”
It takes everything in me not to bark out a laugh. If the house meant something to him, it wouldn’t look the way it does.
“And it means something to Jerry. Right, Jerry?” Dad adds.
For the first time the entire call, Jerry mumbles a “yeah.”
“This house is part of the family. You can hand it down to your kids one day. Don’t you want that?” Dad asks. “I can’t believe you want to let it go, just like that.”
It’s not just like anything.
Dad continues talking, trying to convince me. I let him get it all out. I know this is a lot. I’ve just gotten started.
“All your summer memories you say you loved so much,” Dad says.
“I hope it’ll go to a family who loves it just as much,” I say, having accepted that my dreams existed because of the circumstances. “I want nothing more than for it to go to people who can make happy memories in it, just as Grandma and Grandpa wanted. I think they’d like that.”
“Do you really wanna do this, Hazel?” Jerry asks.
“This is your home,” Dad says, borderline pleading.
“Actually, I have a home,” I say, sliding closer to Logan. “And it’s not the lake house. Not anymore.”
“Well, I own the house, and I don’t agree to that,” Dad says.
“Then you can pay off one hundred percent of the mortgage,” I say. “It is your house, and it’s in your name. The responsibility falls on you.”
“You know the Powerball only got as big as it did because of people like me, right? Your whole life you’ve always hated gambling, andnow you do it? Hypocritical is what that is. You know you wouldn’t have that money if it weren’t for me, right?” Under Dad’s flippancy, I hear desperation. “Think of this as a return or a thank-you.”
“No.” I push more air behind this word so it doesn’t come out sounding hesitant.
Dad lets out a stream of curses. “My daughter wins the fucking lottery, and I get kicked out. How did I get so unlucky?”
I don’t bother attempting an answer to his rhetorical question. But because I know he’s hurting—we’re all hurting—I offer, “I’ll pay for grief counseling and therapy, if you want it. I’ve looked into a therapist for myself. I think it could help us process—”
“Rehab? Therapy? Jesus, Hazel. Oh, I meant to tell you that I’m gonna sign myself out,” he tries. He’s really reaching now. “The casino won’t let me back in after that.”
