But the free arrangement is ending.”
Elise laughed again, though this time it sounded unsteady.
“You’re throwing your own son out over a misunderstanding?”
“No,” I said.
“I’m ending an arrangement that has become dishonest and harmful.”
She left the room.
A few minutes later, I heard her upstairs, opening drawers and speaking angrily into her phone.
Nate stayed at the table.
“Mom, I didn’t know about the signature.”
“I believe you might not have known about the signature,” I said.
“But you knew about the retreat.
And you helped arrange for my belongings to be moved.”
He looked as though he wanted to argue.
Instead, he whispered, “I thought she’d talked to you.”
“You could have talked to me yourself.”
He had no answer.
That night, I locked my bedroom door and called Ruth.
“Are you all right?” she asked immediately.
“I’m not sure yet.”
I explained what had happened.
Ruth listened without interrupting.
Then she said, “I’ll be there in the morning.”
At seven forty-five Friday morning, Ruth arrived with two coffees and a face that suggested she was prepared to argue with anybody who crossed the driveway.
Leila joined us shortly afterward.
She had agreed to come by before her office appointments because of my concerns about the scheduled move.
At eight twelve, a white moving truck pulled into the driveway.
Two men climbed out.
The older one introduced himself as Dennis and showed me the job order.
“We’re here for the upstairs furniture.”
“I’m the homeowner,” I said.
“I have not authorized anyone to remove my property.”
Dennis looked at the paperwork, then at me.
“The person who booked us said the residence was ready for clearance.”
“It isn’t.”
Leila introduced herself and explained that there was a dispute concerning authorization to remove belongings.
Dennis didn’t argue.
He called his dispatcher, explained the situation, and canceled the job pending instructions from the property owner.
I thanked him.
Elise appeared in the doorway wearing a white sweater and an expression of complete outrage.
“You didn’t have to embarrass me in front of the movers.”
“I didn’t schedule them.”
“I was trying to make everything ready for Saturday!”
“Then you should have arranged a venue you were allowed to use.”
Nate stepped onto the porch behind her.
He looked exhausted.
“Elise, stop.”
She turned on him.
“You’re taking her side now?”
“The movers shouldn’t have been here.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Then Elise walked back inside and slammed the door.
Ruth handed me my coffee.
“I’ve never enjoyed a canceled moving appointment quite so much,” she murmured.
I almost smiled.
But there were still eight women who had paid a substantial amount of money.
And that mattered more than winning an argument on my porch.
That afternoon, Leila helped me prepare a written statement confirming that I had never authorized the commercial event, signed the homeowner permission form, or agreed to make the house available.
With my permission, she sent it to the retreat booking service and to June.
June called almost immediately.
“I don’t understand,” she said.
“Elise emailed us this morning saying the retreat was still confirmed.”
I closed my eyes.
Even after the confrontation, even after the moving truck, Elise had continued assuring the guests that everything was fine.
“June, I’m sorry,”
