My Aunt Had Left More Than A Building Behind Her

Ada's office was above a feed store in a town forty minutes from ours.

I arrived with Kit, my lunch box, and a folder held shut by a rubber band. School had let out early for teacher meetings. I could not afford a sitter just to look less tired in a lawyer's chair.

Ada gave Kit paper and a cup of pencils.

"Can I draw the building?" he asked.

"You can draw anything."

He made twelve windows before he drew a door.

Ada read our lease first.

It gave us two years at $625 a month. Fourteen months remained. Della had signed for the charity. Cora had signed the owner's approval on an attached page.

"Did you keep the original?" Ada asked.

"Cora told me to."

"Good advice."

She made copies, then read the bank page.

The transfer had gone to Rook Event Services.

"I've never hired them," I said. "My boiler quotes were from two heating shops. Neither asked for a deposit."

Ada wrote down both names.

"The charity's board needs an independent review. You're entitled to certain records under the building lease. We can request those today."

"Can I just remove Della?"

"You own the building through the trust. You don't own the charity. Different papers, different rights."

I let that settle.

The night before, I had pictured walking into the hall with the deed and watching her hand over her keys.

Real life would take more than one sheet.

Ada showed me Cora's letter.

I had put off reading it because I could still hear my aunt's voice. Seeing it in past tense hurt worse.

Mara, it began. You always asked what a repair would cost before you asked what you could charge.

My eyes blurred.

The letter explained that Cora had bought Mercer Court twenty-three years earlier. She wanted working families to have a place where one missed shift would not mean losing a home.

She had trusted Della to run it. Lately, reports had arrived late. Repairs stayed on paper after tenants said they were still waiting.

Cora had started a review. Then she had become too ill to finish it.

I will not ask you to trust a person because I once trusted them, she wrote. Count. Read. Ask again.

At the bottom was the name of her bookkeeper, Inez Pell.

Ada had already called her. Inez was away helping her sister move and would return the following week. She had Cora's old records in locked storage.

I folded the letter along its old lines.

"Did Della know about me?"

"She knew Cora had changed trustees. I had not given her your name before last night."

"She thought the trust would sell."

"Possibly. There is no signed sale contract in our file."

Ada sent formal notice naming me as trustee. She also told Nolan's title office that he had no authority to sell the property.

Kit finished his drawing.

Each window held a face. In ours, he had drawn three faces and a small circle.

"The baby doesn't have hair yet," he explained.

On our drive home, Evan called.

"Mom says your lawyer sent something wild."

"It's true."

"You own Mercer Court?"

"The trust owns it. I'm responsible for it."

"And you didn't tell me?"

I pulled into a gravel turnout so I could answer without driving angry.

"I learned three days before your mother called me a thief. I was reading the papers."

"We're married."

"Then you should have told the room I couldn't access that account."

He breathed hard into the phone.

"Nolan has spent months on a plan. There are investors."

"For our home?"

"For the whole property. Nice units. Better rent. Mom could retire."

Behind me, Kit stopped rustling his drawing.

"Where were the current tenants going?" I asked.

Evan did not answer.

At home, a notice lay beneath our door. Della claimed our rent was now $1,425. She claimed the reduced rate had ended when my maintenance work stopped.

I still did emergency repairs there. My regular job was at the school. Neither fact changed the lease in my folder.

I sent the notice to Ada.

Nine days later, a process server found me outside work.

Della had filed to remove us from the apartment. Attached to the case was a new agreement saying I had given up our lease.

This time, the signature at the bottom was Evan's alone.