Chapter 3: The Man in the Doorway
It was Pastor Gideon.
He was standing in the doorway between the hall and the living room, still wearing his coat like he had just arrived, and the cream envelope was in his hand.
Corinne pressed her fingers to her mouth.
One of my other church sisters, Vera, stood up from her chair without saying anything, the way women stand when they sense something is about to break.
"Pastor," I said.
My voice came out steadier than I felt.
"How long have you been standing there?"
"Long enough, Dorothy." He looked at Marcus.
"Son, I think you need to sit down."
Marcus did not sit.
"Somebody better start explaining this to me right now.
Because my wife just destroyed my mother's birthday cake in front of half the church, and now my pastor is holding a legal envelope, and nobody is telling me a single thing."
Brittany moved first.
She crossed the room in three quick steps and held out her hand to Pastor Gideon.
"That belongs to me.
Give it back."
Pastor Gideon looked at her hand.
He did not move.
"Brittany," he said quietly.
"I've known Dorothy for thirty-one years.
I baptized Marcus when he was nine years old.
I stood at the graveside when her husband went home." He turned the envelope over in his hands once.
"I am not going to stand in this doorway and watch you take something that was never yours to begin with."
"You don't know what you're talking about." Her voice cracked on the last word.
"I think I do." He walked past her and came to me.
He held out the envelope with both hands, the way you'd offer something sacred.
"This came to the church address six weeks ago.
Addressed to you, Dorothy.
Delivered there by mistake, or maybe not by mistake.
I've been trying to find the right moment to bring it to you."
My hands were not steady when I took it.
The navy-and-gold seal of Hargrove and Associates pressed cold against my thumb.
"Mama." Marcus was beside me now, his voice low.
"What is it?"
I worked the envelope open carefully.
Inside was a single folded document, three pages, and a short typed letter clipped to the front.
I read the first paragraph.
Then I read it again.
"Marcus," I said.
"Did you sign anything recently?
Something to do with the house on Almeda Road?"
He frowned.
"Brittany handles all of that.
She said it was refinancing.
She said it was going to lower our payments."
Brittany's jaw set.
"It was refinancing.
That's all it was."
"No," I said.
I kept my voice even.
I kept my hands still.
"What this says is that the deed to this house — the house your father built, the house I have lived in for forty-two years — was transferred out of my name eleven months ago."
The room did not go quiet this time.
It went hollow.
Marcus turned to his wife so slowly it looked like it hurt him.
"What did you do?"
"I protected us," Brittany said.
Her chin came up.
"This house was going to be a problem when the estate settled.
I talked to a lawyer.
I handled it.
That's what I do, Marcus.
I handle things while you stand around laughing at parties."
"You transferred my mother's house without telling her."
"She would have said no."
"Because it's her house!" His voice broke on the last word, and he pressed his fist against his mouth and looked at the ceiling.
I set the document down on the sideboard.
I set it next to the spot where the cake had stood two hours ago.
Then I looked at Brittany and said, "You came here tonight planning to ruin this party.
You wanted me distracted.
Upset.
Too angry to think clearly." I paused.
"What I want to know is why tonight.
What was supposed to happen tonight that you needed to stop?"
Brittany's eyes moved to the envelope.
Then away.
She pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Pastor Gideon cleared his throat.
"Dorothy.
There's something else.
Look at page three."
I turned to page three.
May you like
And the name at the bottom of the transfer signature was not Brittany's.
It was Marcus's.
