Glenn’s appointment took much of an hour, long enough for my positive attitude to slip. What if that house had some kind of hold on him? What if he clung to some weird history there? We all have bits and pieces we can’t explain. When Glenn finally came out, I couldn’t read him at all. Calm? Satisfied? Ready to reject my offer?
“How’d it go?” I asked in the car. I’d purposely not asked the question in the waiting room because I didn’t want him to feel hemmed in. I wanted to appear all-around casual.
“No probate,” he said. “It’s all mine. I have to thank Dad for that.”
“My parents did that, too, everything in trust.” Then, to change the subject, I asked if he was hungry.
“I guess so.”
I took him to Jack’s, a restaurant I’d discovered several years before on a trip home. In nearby Pleasa
