At first neither of my parents understood what they were looking at. Then my mother’s hand flew to her mouth. My father read the address twice, then once more like repetition might force disbelief to become caution instead of shock.
“Ethan,” he said. Just my name. Nothing else in it. Wonder, fear, pride, and a kind of old workingman panic at being handed something too large.
“It’s yours,” I said. “Not temporary. Not a vacation rental. Not a maybe. Yours. You both spent forty years putting everything and everyone else first. I thought maybe you should get your someday while you can still enjoy it.”
My mother cried. My father did not, because he is my father, but he took off his glasses and put them back on twice and then said he needed a minute and walked outside.
Claire grabbed my arm and said, “Ethan, this is insane,” but she was smiling. Daniel asked, almost before the moment finished happening, “What about taxes?”
I said, “Covered.”
“Maintenance?”
“Covered.”
“Insurance?”
“Covered.”
He nodded slowly, as though filing the answers under future use.