“Gift, or loan?” I asked again.
Slowly, the guests started to notice. The answer was one word. She could talk around it all day, but she wouldn’t say it.
Diane stamped her foot. “It’s not a loan! I’m his mother! I don’t want a single cent! I just want what’s good for my son!”
And there it was.
“Then that settles it. You don’t want the money — so that money was a gift. And a gift doesn’t come with ownership. No ownership means no right to our front door in the middle of the night. From today on, in this house, you’re a guest. Not an owner.”
Diane froze.
The tears were still there. But the crying stopped dead, like a faucet someone had turned off.
She looked at Jake. Looking for the last person who would still take her side.
Jake stood beside me and didn’t speak.
Diane grabbed his arm. “Son. Say something.”
