Mom tried twice to stop me on the way upstairs.
The first time she said I must be exhausted after the flight. The second time she offered to make tea. Both excuses came too quickly, and both made me more determined to see whatever everyone in that house wanted hidden.
Khloe followed us inside.
"Natalie, you're making this into something it isn't."
I kept walking.
The house was almost unrecognizable. The furniture I had helped Mom choose over video calls had mostly disappeared. Family photographs had been replaced by decorative prints. A cabinet that once held Dad's old books now displayed crystal glasses and bottles of liquor.
"Where's Dad's picture?"
Khloe sighed. "We redecorated."
"You redecorated Mom's house?"
Julian came through the back door behind us.
"We all live here."
I turned.
"Since when?"
Nobody answered immediately.
Mom touched my elbow.
"Two years."
I looked at her.
"Khloe and Julian have lived here for two years?"
"They needed somewhere to stay."
Khloe crossed her arms. "Our lease ended. Mom asked us to come here."
"Asked you?"
Khloe's jaw tightened. "Yes."
Mom moved toward the stairs.
"Come, Natalie."
Her tone told me she wanted the argument finished.
I followed.
The master bedroom was at the end of the upstairs hall. I remembered insisting on that room for Mom because its windows overlooked the backyard. When the house was purchased, she had protested that it was too large for one person.
Its door was open now.
Inside stood a king-sized bed with dark linen, men's shoes near the closet, Khloe's cosmetics spread across the dressing table.
I stopped.
Khloe stopped behind me.
"You took Mom's room?"
"It's just a bedroom."
I turned slowly.
"No. It's the room I gave her."
Mom reached for my hand.
"Natalie, please."
"Where do you sleep?"
She led me farther down the corridor.
Past the guest room.
Past another room I had once imagined using when I came home.
Near the garage stairs was a small space originally intended as storage and occasional staff accommodation. Mom opened its door.
My throat tightened.
A narrow bed stood against the wall. Her clothes occupied a portable rack. An old television sat on a folding table. Beside it were her medicines, a kettle, two cups, and a photograph of Dad.
Everything that remained of my mother's life seemed to fit inside one cramped room.
I walked to the closet.
There wasn't one.
I looked at Mom.
"Why are you here?"
"It's quiet."
"That's not an answer."
"I don't need much space."
"You had space."
Her eyes dropped.
Behind me, Khloe said, "Mom chose this."
I turned so quickly she stepped back.
"Did she?"
"Yes."
"Then let her tell me."
Khloe's face flushed.
Julian appeared in the doorway.
"This interrogation needs to stop."
I stared at him.
"You've been living in a house I own for two years, sleeping in the bedroom I bought for my mother, while she's living beside the garage and cleaning your patio. I think I can ask a few questions."
His expression hardened.
"You own it on paper."
The room became very quiet.
I studied him.
"What did you say?"
Julian folded his arms.
"I said you're technically the owner. But you've been gone six years. Your mother lives here. Khloe and I take care of the place."
I looked around at Mom's little room.
"This is what taking care of her looks like?"
Mom stepped between us.
"Please don't fight."
I hated the fear in her voice more than Julian's arrogance.
I softened my tone.
"Mom, pack a bag."
She stared at me.
"What?"
"You're coming with me."
"Natalie—"
"Tonight."
Khloe shook her head. "Where are you taking her?"
"A hotel."
"This is ridiculous."
I faced my sister.
"No. What's ridiculous is that I had to travel eight thousand miles to discover my mother doesn't seem to live in her own home anymore."
"It's our home too."
"According to whom?"
"Mom."
I looked at Mom.
She was twisting her fingers together.
"Did you give them part of this house?"
"No."
"Did you sign anything?"
Her eyes moved toward Julian.
That glance was enough.
I stepped closer to her.
"Did you sign anything?"
"I don't think so."
"You don't think so?"
Julian gave an impatient sigh.
"You're frightening her."
I turned on him.
"I'm asking her a question."
"And I'm telling you nothing illegal happened."
Interesting choice of words.
I hadn't mentioned anything illegal.
For the first time since arriving, my anger receded enough for caution to take its place.
I knew property contracts. I knew documentation. More importantly, I knew what people sounded like when they had rehearsed an explanation before anyone asked for one.
I picked up Mom's small suitcase from beneath the bed.
"We're leaving."
Julian blocked the doorway.
"She doesn't have to go anywhere."
I looked directly at him.
"Move."
"You're creating drama because you walked in without warning and misunderstood what you saw."
"Then I'll give everyone time to explain it properly."
He didn't move.
I took out my phone.
"Should I call someone to help you understand?"
His eyes dropped to the screen.
After several seconds, he stepped aside.
Mom packed almost nothing. Two dresses. Her medicines. A cardigan despite the heat. The photograph of Dad.
When she reached for a worn pair of shoes, I noticed there were only three pairs on the floor.
"Where are the shoes I sent you for Christmas?"
She hesitated.
"I don't wear them."
"The blue ones?"
"They weren't practical."
"What happened to them?"
Khloe answered from the hallway.
"Mom gave away some things."
Mom said nothing.
I zipped the suitcase.
The silence in that room had begun answering questions faster than anyone else could.
Downstairs, I retrieved my luggage. Khloe followed me to the entrance.
"You come home after six years and suddenly you're the hero?"
The accusation caught me off guard.
I turned.
"What?"
"You weren't here."
"No. I was working."
"Exactly. Somewhere else."
"So I could pay for this."
I gestured around us.
"For Mom."
Khloe's mouth tightened.
"Money doesn't make you a daughter."
"No. But making our mother scrub your patio doesn't make you one either."
Her face changed.
I regretted the cruelty of the sentence, but not enough to take it back.
Mom came between us.
"Please."
I opened the door.
Before leaving, I looked at Julian.
He had remained near the stairs, watching me with an expression that was no longer merely annoyed.
He looked worried.
Good.
At the hotel, I settled Mom into the second bed, ordered food she barely touched, and waited until she fell asleep.
Then I went into the bathroom and closed the door.
I searched my contacts for a number I had not used in nearly three years.
Harrison Vance.
The attorney who had handled the house purchase and whom I had retained precisely because I lived abroad.
He answered after four rings.
"Natalie?"
"Harrison. I need you to check something."
"How soon?"
I looked through the partly open bathroom door at my sleeping mother.
"Tonight."
"What am I checking?"
"The house."
There was a pause.
"Your house?"
"Everything. Deed. taxes. liens. filings. Anything involving my mother, Khloe, or Julian."
His voice became serious.
"What happened?"
I watched Mom turn restlessly beneath the blanket.
"I don't know yet."
Then I lowered my voice.
"But I think somebody has spent the last two years making sure she wouldn't tell me."
