I closed my eyes and leaned back in the chair.
“Anything I want to do?” I asked. “I can do?”
“Anything,” she said.
I thanked her and hung up.
Then I opened my laptop and typed two words into the search bar.
Lake Oconee real estate.
I did not make a decision that day.
People think decisive moments feel like lightning. Some do. Most don’t. Most feel like a hand resting on the doorknob a long time before it finally turns. That day I gathered names. Read listings. Looked at comparable sales. Closed the computer. Opened it again. Stared at photographs of houses belonging to strangers. Imagined mine belonging to strangers and waited to see whether the idea made me feel ill.
It didn’t.
That surprised me.
What made me feel ill was not selling the house. What made me feel ill was the thought of going back there in August, as Lorraine had so kindly suggested, and pretending I was not being admitted by permission to a place built from my marriage.
Still, I gave her one last chance.
Not because she deserved it. Because I needed to know, for myself, that I had not mistaken inconvenience for cruelty.
I called her.
“Hey, baby,” I said when she picked up. “I was thinking maybe I’d come up next weekend. Bring some peach jam. The kids liked it.”
A pause.
Then that voice, the one that used to say Mama and now sounded like someone managing a scheduling conflict.
“Mom, I told you Kevin’s parents are there through the month. It’s just easier if you wait. Maybe August?”
“August,” I repeated.
“Yeah. We’ll figure it out.”
She hung up first.
She always hung up first by then.
June 14th was the voicemail. June 16th I listed the lake house for sale.
The agent I chose was named Delia Morgan, fifty-five, local, practical, no nonsense, with a tan like old leather and a habit of tapping property descriptions with her pen when she wanted you to stop romanticizing a transaction. She came recommended by Earl and by one of the women from church whose sister had sold a cabin nearby.
We met at the house. I let her in with my own original key because I had hired a locksmith the week before and changed the lock back myself.
She walked through room by room, taking notes, asking the right questions, opening windows, checking storage, standing on the porch for a long minute to look at the water.
