I got a check. Daniel got a check. Patricia got her fee. The new owners got a house with a seven-year-old roof that was in excellent condition.
Daniel and I had a few phone calls during this period that were productive without being warm. He never fully explained his reasoning for the invoice — he deflected when I came near it directly, and I stopped pressing, partly because I had what I needed and partly because I could see he genuinely did not know how to explain it in a way that didn’t make him sound like something he didn’t want to sound like.
He called when the sale closed. We talked for about ten minutes. He said it had been a difficult year. I said yes. He said he was glad it was resolved. I said I was too. He said something about coming to visit sometime, which we both understood was a statement of vague future intent rather than a plan.
I said call me when he had a date in mind. He said he would.
I don’t know if he will. I don’t know what we are to each other now, beyond two people who share a history and a mother and a family story that we each understand differently. That’s going to be a long project, figuring out what comes after. I’m not going to do it quickly.
THE FINAL ENCOUNTER AND EMOTIONAL ANSWER
In June, about six months after my mother’s funeral, I drove to the new apartment for the first time as someone who actually lived there.