Chapter 5 - The Great Awakening
Wednesday,
2:14 p.m.
It was exactly one week since I had heard their plan.
I was sitting in the living room,
knitting a sweater I had no intention of finishing.
Mason and Harper were in the kitchen,
looking at real estate websites on their laptops.
There was a loud,
authoritative knock on the front door.
“I’ll get it,”
Mason called out.
He opened the door,
expecting perhaps a delivery or a neighbor.
Instead,
he was met by a process server.
“Mason Brooks?”
the man asked.
“Yes?”
“You’ve been served.”
Mason took the envelope,
his face pale.
“What is this?”
He tore it open,
his eyes scanning the pages.
Harper came running out of the kitchen.
“What’s going on?”
“It’s an eviction notice,”
Mason whispered,
his voice trembling.
“And a restraining order.”
I stood up,
setting my knitting aside.
My back was straight,
and the “confusion” had vanished from my eyes.
“Actually,”
I said,
my voice ringing through the house,
“it’s a bit more than that.”
They both turned to look at me,
their mouths agape.
“You have twenty-four hours to vacate this property,”
I said.
“And if you attempt to contact me or approach the farm,
you will be arrested.”
“Mom?”
Mason stammered.
“What are you talking about?
You’re sick.
You’re confused.”
“I’m not the one who is confused,
Mason,”
I said,
stepping toward him.
“I heard you.
I heard everything you said through that window.
I heard you call me stupid.
I heard you plan to put me in a warehouse so you could play with my money.”
Harper’s face turned a mottled red.
“You were spying on us?”
“In my own home?”
I laughed.
“I was listening to the truth.
And the truth is,
I don't have a son anymore.
I have a tenant who has overstayed his welcome.”
Mason tried to move toward me,
his face contorting with rage.
“You can’t do this!
I’m your only child!”
“And I was the mother who gave you everything,”
I shouted,
the years of suppressed anger finally boiling over.
“I sold my mother’s rings for your tuition!
I skipped meals so you could eat!
And you repaid me by pricing out nursing homes!”
I pulled out my phone and pressed play on the recording.
Their own voices filled the room,
discussing how it would be “simpler” if I died.
The silence that followed the recording was deafening.
Mason looked like he had been struck.
Harper looked like she was looking for a way to run.
“Mr. Sterling is waiting outside with the police,”
I said,
calmly.
“They are here to ensure you pack your things and leave peacefully.”
“You’re throwing us out on the street?”
Harper shrieked.
“We have no money!”
“Then I suggest you get jobs,”
I said.
“Real ones.
Not photography 'businesses' funded by a woman you despise.”
I walked to the front door and opened it wide.
The bright afternoon sun flooded the hallway.
“Goodbye,
Mason,”
I said.
“Don't call.
Don't write.
And don't ever think for a second that I am stupid.”
As they began to frantically grab their belongings,
watched by the officers at the door,
I felt a strange sense of peace.
The house felt larger,
cleaner,
and finally,
it felt like mine again.
I was sixty-eight years old,
I had $850,000,
five hundred acres of land,
May you like
and a life that was finally,
truly,
