I unrolled the map and laid the deed on top. “The boundaries are right here. The county confirmed it. If you want to pave anything, you talk to me first.”

Pastor Jim’s face went still. He looked at the papers like they might bite him. “We didn’t realize the title was still in your name.”

“Well now you do,” I said.

I left the papers on the table and walked out. I could hear them talking low behind me, but I didn’t turn around.

The next morning Pastor Jim called. He said they were putting the paving on hold. He asked if we could meet to discuss options. I told him I needed some time to think.

It’s been four days. The survey stakes are still in the ground. I haven’t pulled them out yet.

Frank would have hated this fuss. He always said the church was family. But family asks before they build on your land. I keep wondering if I should just sign something and let them have it so things can go back to quiet. Then I remember the contractor showing up without a word to me and I get mad all over again.

I haven’t decided what to do next. The deed stays in my drawer for now.

The coffee had gone cold on the table by the time I stopped looking at the folder. I could smell the old paper when I lifted the cover, that dry smell from sitting in the drawer all these years. The pages were a little yellow at the edges but the ink was still clear on the names.

Frank had signed his name with that old fountain pen he kept in the desk. The one with the gold clip. “Edith, this is for you and the kids after I’m gone,” he said the day we filed it at the courthouse. “Mama wanted it that way and I don’t see any reason to change it.”

I could see his face when he said it, the way he looked at me over the top of his glasses. That was the year before he got sick the first time. We didn’t know then how short the time would be.

Pastor Jim called again this afternoon. “Edith, the deacons are praying about this,” he said. “We want to honor your family and the agreement.” I thanked him and hung up before I could say something I’d regret later.

The agreement was never written down except for that one line Frank scribbled on a piece of paper. “Use the lot for parking as needed.” That was all. No dates, no signatures from the church side. Just his word and a handshake.