Chapter 15 - Grandma's House
I drove to Ohio three days later.
Not to confront my mother.
To see the duplex.
It sat on a quiet street outside Columbus, blue siding, white porch rail, two small mailboxes.
A woman named Rachel lived in Unit A.
When I introduced myself, she frowned.
“Aaron Cole?”
“Yes.”
“You’re Diane’s son?”
“Yes.”
Her face changed.
“She told us you were dead.”
I honestly thought I had misheard.
“What?”
“She said the other owner was her son, but he died years ago, so she managed everything.”
My skin went cold.
“When did she say that?”
“Every time we asked why both names were on old county paperwork.”
Rachel invited me inside.
She had copies of rent receipts going back five years.
Payments made directly to Mom.
Across the duplex, an older man named Mr. Alvarez had lived there for eleven years.
He said the same thing.
“Your grandmother talked about you all the time.”
I swallowed.
“You knew her?”
“Sure. She said you were the only grandkid who called without asking for something.”
That almost broke me.
He went inside and came back with a small envelope.
“Your grandmother gave me this before she moved into hospice. Said if you ever came here, I should give it to you.”
My name was written across the front in her handwriting.
I sat on the porch steps before opening it.
Inside was one sheet of paper.
Aaron,
If your mother tells you I left you nothing, do not believe her. I left you half the duplex because you helped me when nobody was watching. Do not let guilt make you give away what is yours.
Love,
Grandma Ruth
I read the last sentence three times.
Do not let guilt make you give away what is yours.
My whole life fit inside those words.
My phone rang.
Mom.
I answered.
Her voice was already angry.
“Where are you?”
I looked at the blue duplex.
“Grandma’s house.”
May you like
Silence.
Then she whispered, “You had no right to go there.”
