The Lake House
At Thanksgiving dinner, my son, who had made himself a wealthy man, smiled at me across the table and asked, “Mom, how are you enjoying the lake house?”
I looked at him in complete bewilderment. “What lake house? I’ve never received anything.”
The room went silent. My daughter in law rose slowly from her chair, her face gone gray. And without a word, my son took out his phone and opened the transfer records and began checking each entry, one by one, until he found the truth that had been hidden from both of us for two years.
“Mom, how are you enjoying the lake house?”
He asked it standing beside my Thanksgiving table with a bottle of sparkling cider in one hand and a bakery box in the other, and for a moment I genuinely thought I had misheard him.
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