“We don’t have anywhere to go,” she said again. Her voice cracked. “Okay? Is that what you want to hear? We don’t have a house.”
The room went silent.
Ben was standing in the doorway of the guest suite. In a T-shirt and sweatpants. His glasses crooked.
He closed his eyes.
My mother put her hand over her mouth.
My father turned on Melissa.
“Melissa,” he said. “That’s enough.”
“No,” Melissa said. “No, Dad. She’s calling the police. She has a deputy here. She’s going to find out anyway.”
Ezoic
I looked at my sister.
“What do you mean,” I said slowly, “you don’t have a house?”
Ezoic
Melissa didn’t answer.
She looked at my father.
My father looked at the floor.
My mother spoke.
Very quietly.
“We sold it,” she said.
I turned and looked at her.
“Sold what?”
“The house,” my mother whispered. “In Cary. On Bridlewood Drive.”
