I drove over to his place that evening. I didn’t call first. I think I was afraid he’d talk me out of coming over if I gave him the chance.

He opened the door and looked surprised to see me. He was holding a glass of iced tea and wearing his work boots.

“What are you doing here,” he asked.

I didn’t say a word. I just held out the tax bill.

He took it and looked at it. His face didn’t change much. He just looked annoyed.

“You got my mail,” he said.

“I got the tax bill for the house,” I told him.

He sighed and stepped back to let me in. “It’s not a big deal,” he said.

“It’s my house too,” I said.

He walked into the kitchen and set his tea down on the counter. “Mama wanted me to have it,” he said.

I looked at him. I wanted to see some sign of regret. I wanted to see him look at least a little bit guilty for doing this while she was in a memory care ward.

“She couldn’t hold a pen, David,” I said.

“She told me,” he said.

“She didn’t know who I was,” I said.

He turned around and leaned against the counter. He looked tired. Not the tired of a man who’s been working hard, but the tired of a man who’s been carrying a secret for a long time.

“You weren’t there,” he said.

“I was there every Sunday,” I told him.

“You didn’t see the bills,” he said.

I frowned. “What bills.”

He gestured vaguely at the living room. “The medical bills. The care home costs. The roof repairs. You think all that money just appeared out of thin air?”

“We split the costs,” I said.

“You sent checks,” he said. “I did the work.”

He walked over to the table and pulled out a chair. He motioned for me to sit down. I stayed standing.

“Mama was scared,” he said. “She was scared of the home. She was scared of being broke.”

“So you took the house,” I said.

“I took the responsibility,” he said.

He looked at me then, really looked at me. There was something hard in his eyes that I hadn’t seen before.

“You think you’re the only one who loved her,” he said.

“I never said that,” I told him.

“You acted like it,” he said. “You’d come by on Sundays and bring her flowers. You’d stay for an hour. Then you’d leave.”

“I have a job,” I said.

“I was the one who had to go in and argue with the nurses,” he said. “I was the one who had to go in and tell the doctors she didn’t need that extra medication. I was the one who cleaned her up when she had an accident.”

He stopped and took a deep breath.