Derek didn’t look at June.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a key. The metal caught the sun. He walked to the cake table, set the key on the edge, slid it toward her.
“We move out next week,” he said. “The key stays here.”
June stared at him, lips white. “This — this is my house!”
“Nobody’s kicking you out,” Derek said. “You keep the house. We leave.”
“You can’t — you can’t do this to your own mother —” June’s voice came apart. She spun around. “Frank! Say something! Your son is trying to kick me out—”
Frank was still at the grill. He hadn’t looked up once. Now he put the tongs down on the plate, wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, and took a step. Another. He walked to my side of the yard and stopped by the porch.
He didn’t say a word. But him standing there — that said everything.
