I descended the stairs slowly, found James in the kitchen making coffee like he owned the place. Bella was nowhere in sight.
“What are you doing here?”
“Checking on you.” He looked earnest, concerned. The son I remembered from before. “I felt bad about earlier. About how we handled things.”
“You mean about planning to commercialize my property without asking?”
“Yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture I recognized from when he was a teenager struggling with homework. “We got ahead of ourselves. I got ahead of myself.”
I waited. Didn’t help him. Didn’t offer forgiveness he hadn’t earned.
“The thing is,” he continued, “I owe some people money. Bad investments. I thought—if I could get this resort thing going, I could fix everything. Make it right.”
“How much?”
“What?”
“How much do you owe?”
James looked away. “That’s not important.”
“How much, James?”
“350,000.” The number fell like a stone. “Maybe more with interest.”
My blood went cold. Gambling. His silence was answer enough.
“Jesus, James.” I sank into a chair. “Your uncle tried to help you three years ago. You told him to die. He told you.”
James’s face went white. “He promised he wouldn’t.”
“He’s dead, James. The promise died with him.”
“I didn’t mean it. You have to know that. I was desperate. I said something stupid.”
“You said something true.”
I stood. “You wanted him dead so you could inherit. So you could fix your mistakes with his money.”
“No, Mom. No. I wanted help. I was drowning.”
“And now you’re dragging me down with you.”
“That’s not—” He stopped. Started again. “Bella has investors, real ones. If we can just get the lodge converted, we’ll make enough to pay everything back—with profit. You’d be set for life.”
“I don’t want to be set. I want to be free.”
“Free to what? Live here alone? You can’t maintain this place on your own. The heating system is 30 years old. The roof needs work. The septic—”
“It’s fine. Robert maintained everything. Kept records.” I’d found those in the file cabinet by the water heater. Receipts and warranties and professional assessments. My brother had been thorough.
James slumped against the counter. “I don’t have time, Mom. The people I owe, they’re not patient. If I don’t have something solid by next month, they’re going to—”
He stopped.
“Going to what?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
I crossed to him. Put my hand on his arm. Felt him trembling. “What are you involved in?”
“Nothing I can’t fix. If you just sign the deed over temporarily, we’ll set up a trust. Put it in your name, but give me power of attorney to handle the business side.”
I stepped back. “No.”
“Mom—”
“No. I’m not signing anything.”
“You don’t understand what’s at stake.”
