My mother tapped the signature line with a polished nail and told me not to make it uncomfortable. My father said my name was not on the deed so I did not get a vote. Colton checked his phone and smiled when I hesitated, because that had always been the arrangement. He needed something, she explained why it mattered, my father looked at the tablecloth, and I made the problem go away.

Nine weeks earlier I had stood at the gate under a sign reading UNDER CONTRACT, looking at a listing that called my grandfather’s workshop an obsolete outbuilding suitable for removal. You could still see his handwriting on the drawer labels in the photograph.