Once when water was leaking through my ceiling, and once when you left for a weekend with the oven on.”
“You use the backyard whenever we have company.”
“It is my backyard.”
“You make Julian feel guilty whenever we travel.”
“I drove you to the airport last spring.”
Brenda’s jaw shifted.
“You always have an answer.”
“No,” Clara said.
“I finally kept records.”
She opened the binder again.
Behind the deed were photographs of the upstairs apartment taken after they left: dishes stacked in the sink, damp towels on the hardwood floor, wax from an unattended candle on a windowsill, and a scorch mark beneath a space heater Clara had repeatedly asked them not to use.
There were copies of utility bills showing the increase since they moved in.
There were receipts for the upstairs renovation, all paid from Clara’s savings.
There were messages from Brenda demanding exclusive use of the laundry room, the backyard, and the driveway.
One message instructed Clara to move her late husband’s workbench out of the garage because Brenda wanted space for exercise equipment.
Julian picked up the printed page.
“You sent this?” he asked.
Brenda snatched it from his hand.
“It was a practical suggestion.
Nobody uses that old bench.”
“Your father built it,” Clara said to Julian.
“He used it for thirty-two years.”
Julian lowered his eyes.
The workbench had remained untouched since his father died.
Clara dusted it every month but never moved the jars of screws, the carpenter’s pencil, or the wooden-handled hammer worn smooth by his grip.
Brenda pushed the binder away.
“So what is this supposed to be? Some kind of trial?”
“No.
It is the end of an informal arrangement.”
Clara slid the rental agreement forward.
“If you choose to remain upstairs, this is the new lease.
The rent reflects the market value of a renovated apartment in this area.
Utilities are calculated separately.
Shared spaces are defined.
Entry rules apply to everyone.
Payment is due on the first of each month.”
Brenda scanned the first page and laughed again, louder this time.
“You expect us to pay this?”
“I expect any adults occupying the apartment to pay it.”
“This is almost three times what we give you now.”
“What you give me now does not cover half the utilities.”
“We’re family.”
Clara looked directly at her.
“You remembered that when the rent was low.
You forgot it when you left me on Christmas Eve.”
Julian flinched.
Brenda slapped the agreement against the table.
“You cannot suddenly treat your own son like a tenant.”
“The attorney who prepared that document says I can formalize the arrangement.
You have the full notice period required by law.
Nothing has been removed from the upstairs apartment, and you have not been denied lawful access.”
Clara touched the sealed envelope.
“This contains one replacement key and the written access conditions.
A second key will be issued after the acknowledgment form is signed.”
Brenda stared at the envelope as though it were an insult designed solely for her.
“You talked to an attorney?”
