looked at me. His eyes were red.
“I’m not ready for the house, Mom,” he said. “I don’t deserve it. Not now. Maybe not ever.”
“I know.”
“Don’t sign it. Please. Not yet.”
“I wasn’t going to,” I said.
I did go back to Graham’s office in November, though.
I sat in the same leather chair. Graham wore a burgundy bow tie with little anchors on it.
“I’d like to change things,” I said.
He picked up his pen.
We tore up the old deed. Graham ran it through his
