He left before I could answer.
“And I want you to sell this shack.”
Eleven years of marriage, and that was my reward.
I spent every childhood summer in Grandma Rose’s house. She taught me to bake apple pie. We sat on her porch for hours, and when it rained, we read under one blanket.
When she died, she left the house to her son, my uncle Frank. He sold it a month after the funeral.
I was nineteen and broke. I cried for weeks.
The new owners lived there for years. Last spring, they listed it.
I cried for weeks.
Grandma Rose had left me some money, which I’d invested instead of spending.
Over the years, it had grown enough that I could finally afford to buy her house back.
For two days, Declan wouldn’t drop it.
I said I wanted to rebuild the porch.
“Do you know what lumber costs?”
“I’ve got an estimate.”
I spent every childhood summer in Grandma Rose’s house.
“Of course you do. And what happens when the estimate doubles?”
“Then I wait until I can afford it.”
I mentioned the kitchen. He laughed.
“Maybe fix the roof before you start dreaming about curtains.”
“The roof is first on my list.”
“Then why are you talking about the kitchen?”
“And what happens when the estimate doubles?”
“Because I’m allowed to think about more than one room, Declan.”
At dinner, our son Owen looked up from his plate. He’s ten and lives for comic books.
“Mom, can I have a room at Grandma Rose’s house?”
“Of course, honey.”
“Could we put shelves on the walls? Like the comic shop?”
“We’ll see what fits.”
He laughed.
“If your mom doesn’t blow every penny fixing that dump,” Declan said.
“Declan. Not in front of him.”
Owen put down his fork.
“It’s not a dump, Dad. Mom says Grandma Rose loved that house.”
“Loving something doesn’t make it worth the money.”
“Would you sell your Mustang if someone said it wasn’t worth fixing?” Owen asked.
“Loving something doesn’t make it worth the money.”
Declan looked up.
“That’s different, buddy.”
“Why?”
“Because I know what I’m doing with that car.”
I put my fork down.
“And I know what I’m doing with the house.”
“If your mom doesn’t blow every penny fixing that dump.”
Declan said nothing, but Owen had already lost his appetite.
On the third day, I’d had enough.
“This weekend I’m starting to clean the house. With your help or without it.”
“Fine. Don’t expect me to get involved.”
“I don’t.”
That afternoon, my phone rang. Declan. His voice sounded strange.