I opened the door but kept the security chain fastened.
“What do you want?”
She looked down at the porch.
“Can we talk?”
“No.”
“Claire, please. Just five minutes.”
I studied her face.
Once, I would have opened the door immediately. I would have invited her inside, made coffee, and listened while she explained why everything had happened to her rather than because of her.
But I had learned that sympathy without boundaries could become another way of being used.
“You can talk from there,” I said.
She nodded, swallowing hard.
“The bank is threatening foreclosure proceedings. Mom and Dad can’t cover the payments. They’ve spent everything they had.”
I said nothing.
“They’re blaming each other. Dad says Mom knew about the deed. Mom says he planned the whole thing. I don’t even know what to believe anymore.”
“You knew enough to tell him to use my old signature.”
