Michael could see that the listing agent, Carol, was one of those Cape Codders who seemed out of place in an office, but he understood why she was there: you have to pay the bills somehow. She’d been completely unruffled when he stormed into her office. He guessed she bartended on the side. She had a bartender’s confidence, like she could deal with anyone’s bullshit. He could tell from her Dennis bracelet and the WFLT tattoo on her wrist that she probably went three, four, five generations back—one of those locals who don’t even think of the Cape as part of America.
This time of year, the windows of the tiny real estate office were covered with tattered and yellowed printouts of last summer’s listings that still hadn’t sold. Some of his friends were Realtors, but it wasn’t as profitable now that people used sites like Airbnb and HomeAway to rent their houses, instead of relying on agents to manage their rental listings.
“I was told the title was clear,” Carol said.
“Clear as mud. I’m an heir.” The word “heir” seemed too fancy for a guy like him, but he said it with confidence, even though it had been over a decade since he’d publicly identified himself as a member of the Gordon family or had any reason to say their name out loud.
“Mr. Gordon, if you are—”
“Davis. I’m Mr. Davis.” The title “Mr.” sounded foreign to his ears, as if he were saying his father’s name. Hardly anyone out here went by their titles, like teachers. “Michael,” he said.
“I’ve seen you at the Pig. Trivia nights. You’re friends with Deedee?”
“You could say that,” Michael said. The Outer Cape in the winter was a small place. “How do you know her?”
“Kayaking.”
It was no surprise that they knew each other through kayaking. What did anyone do out here before kayaks were invented?
“Still,” Carol said, “if you aren’t in the immediate family, you don’t have a claim at this point.”
“I am a member of the immediate family. I was adopted. It’s a long story.”
“I’ll bet it is.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a file marked GORDON. “I was very careful to ask about other interested parties. I’m surprised, frankly. I didn’t see this coming. Do you have proof?”
“That I’m adopted? Yeah, I can show you proof.” He kept his adoption paperwork in a safe-deposit box in the Cape Cod Five Cents Savings Bank.
“If you can demonstrate you’re entitled, you’ll need to go to the clerk’s office and file a notice of an interested party, unless you just want to approach your sisters yourself?”
“I might,” he said. “Look, I’ve always loved that house. I don’t want to raise trouble. But if they plan to sell it anyway, I want to buy it. I’m entitled to do that, no matter what Ann says. Or doesn’t.”
He knew that house. He still knew that the latch to the old cellar often got stuck, and he remembered which steps to the attic creaked, and which floorboards buckled. The girls took the house for granted, letting it sit empty the way they did. Not Michael. He’d buy them out if he had to—it would be a stretch, but he just might be able to afford it. He wanted Avery to grow up there. “What else do I need to do?” Michael asked.
“I’m not your lawyer. I’m just the Realtor. And I’m apparently getting screwed on this deal.”
“That’s not my fault,” Michael said. He scooted his chair closer to her desk. “We’re both getting screwed. Please, can’t you just tell me what to do?”
Carol yanked the ponytail holder out of her hair, shook her hair loose, and gathered it all back up again into a new ponytail. She twisted it around, secured it again, and just like that she had a mound of hair on top of her head that looked exactly like the one she’d had before. “You’ll want to meet with a probate attorney. You’ll need to furnish evidence.”
“Like I said, that’s not a problem.”
He was agitated. For years anything that had to do with the Gordon family felt like a secret. Now he was telling her, a complete stranger—well, maybe not a complete stranger, if she knew Deeds—about the house he loved, the family he belonged to. He wiped the sweat off his dirty forehead. He was always sweating dirt.
“I swear, nobody cares about these old summer houses until it’s time to sell and then suddenly relatives come out of the woodwork like termites.”
“Termites. Thanks a lot.”
“You know what I mean. Look, if you’re really an heir, you have two options. You can sign onto the deed on the property or release your claim.”
“Why would I release my claim? I’ll buy them out.” He could tell Carol thought he didn’t have two nickels to rub together. He wore a ripped-up fleece, a pair of old jeans, big boots. His hands were covered in dirt.
“Either way,” Carol said, “I’m out of the picture. Nobody wants the property if someone else claims to be on the deed.”
“I really want that house.”
“I can see why you would. I had half a mind to buy it myself. It’s a special place.” She flashed him a smile. She seemed harsh, like so many of the year-rounders. But he could tell she was kind.
“So, it was Ann who told you the title was clear?”
“I’d really prefer not to get involved. I think you should ask her yourself.”
“But I’m right here and I’m asking you.”
“Like I said, I’d really rather not get involved.”
“You were lied to.”
Carol paused. She shuffled through some of the paperwork and passed a form across her desk. She pointed at Ann’s signature on the bottom line. “See?”
“I see.” Michael pushed his chair away from the desk and stood up abruptly. “I’m sorry about your listing.”
“Maybe it was an honest mistake.”
“Nah. Ann’s mistakes are never honest.” He walked toward the door to leave but hesitated.
“You can’t cut a house into three parts,” she said. It was charitable of her to offer advice. “You can buy out the other interests, or come up with a way to share the property. That’s easiest. Actually, it’s easiest when there’s a will, but there’s no sign of that.”
“I’ll bet Ann’s made sure of that. Ed was the kind of guy who would have left a will. He taught history. He documented stuff.”
“Ann said she’s looked everywhere.”
“What does it mean if Ann says something? She might have found it and destroyed it if my name was on it.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know. Seemed to me she would have preferred a will, like she felt bad about selling in the first place.”
“Any other options?”
“Worst case, I suppose you can file a petition to partition.”
“What does that mean?”
“You force the sale. The house usually ends up at auction. It’s not your best option. You might end up bidding against each other. It could end up going for more than you’ll be willing to pay. And you risk it going to some other party.”
“Nobody is going to get that house but me.”
“Good luck, Michael.” He thought about asking her out—there weren’t many people to date on the Cape—but he had too much to think about.
Michael pulled the door open, and a gust of cool air blew into the office.
“Can you do me a favor and not say anything about seeing me? I need to figure out the best way to work this out.”
“She needs to know sooner than later. Look, these things can get messy. I see it all the time.”
Michael appreciated her concern. “Oh, it got messy a long time ago.”