His face settled into solemn lines. “We’re going to spend more time at the beach cottage. It doesn’t make sense to hold onto a house this big anymore.”
Not the reason at all. “Are you selling the consignment shop too?” We all loved that place. Mom had purchased the huge historic Harley House and renovated the downstairs. It was gorgeous now, with hardwood floors and twelve-foot ceilings and ornate trim everywhere.
“No,” Mom finally spoke, her voice gruff. “We’ll finish converting the second floor into an apartment. Your dad and I will live there during the week and go to the beach cottage on the weekends.”
“What about me?”
“You’re about to move away from home, Sara. Unless you’re on break, you’ll be living in a dorm.”
Maybe not, but I wouldn’t be introducing that problem now.
There had been too much change this year. Bad change. What made them think this one was good?
I fought off a strong desire to rock. Instead, I gripped the edge of the table. This moment felt like it needed focus, not rocking.
I’d lived in this house most of my life. Millions of memories had been created here. Sleepovers in the living room. Shouting matches in the hallways. Butt races down the stairs. Did they believe we could just pack up our history and move?
It had been a while since I’d felt such fierce outrage that my nerve endings popped and sizzled. “You didn’t include me in the discussion.”
“We knew what your opinion would be.”
I bet they did, and even if they hadn’t, my “are you crazy?” expression would’ve made it clear. “I think—”
Dad interrupted. “You might as well let this go.”
Really? Had he forgotten my personality? I never simply let things go. “Therapists say that you shouldn’t make big life changes when you’re grieving.”
“The decision’s been made.”
When had my father become so dictatorial? This affected me.Hurtme. What reason had been so huge that they’d excluded me from the conversation? Even if I couldn’t have changed their minds, I’d deserved the opportunity to speak.
Thwarted frustration swelled inside me until it seemed as if it could spew from my skin. “Why this? Why now?”
“We’ve already explained—”
“No, you haven’t, Dad. Just tell me the truth.”
“We can’t live here anymore!” Mom sounded ragged. Desperate. “He’s everywhere.”
The wordeverywhereechoed in the silence, finally making sense of the false platitudes they’d spouted before. My parents had to leave for the same reason I wanted to stay.
My outrage cooled as quickly as it had flared. Knowing the whole truth made this painful news easier to take. I might not like this decision, but I got it now. Releasing my grip on the table, I forced my brain to go slack. “Okay, then. What happens next?”
Dad took my mother’s hand in his. “We have to give the house curb appeal. We met with our real estate agent to create a list of projects while you were in DC.”
“So you’ve been planning this for a while.”
He kept going as if I hadn’t spoken. “We have contractors arriving tomorrow.”
“To mulch flower beds.” Scott had known before me. Wow.
“Yes. And replace the carpet. Paint the walls. Typical stuff. It shouldn’t take long to finish.”
I choked back my despair. They’d dropped this bomb on me less than 24 hours before our home would be invaded. “How much has to be done to complete the Harley House apartment?”
“All we have left is to upgrade the oven and the refrigerator, and then give it a good cleaning.”
In addition to the kitchenette, the second floor had a great room and a master suite. Unless they planned to clear out some space in the junk closet, there was no bedroom for me. Was that a message or an oversight? I pressed my hands against the burn in my gut. “Who’s packing Sean’s room?” His name scraped my throat.
