Chapter 3 - The Translation Strategy|

We pulled out of the neighborhood and headed toward downtown Knoxville.

For the first ten minutes of the drive, Evelyn chatted about mundane everyday topics. She brought up the rising price of organic eggs, Lily’s ongoing college applications, and how a neighbor’s golden retriever had managed to dig up her prize-winning azalea bushes again.

Then, out of nowhere, she turned her head and looked straight at me.

"Claire, do you know what Ryan thinks this house is worth?"

I blinked, keeping my eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"What?"

"My home. The property."

"I have no idea, Evelyn."

"Six hundred thousand dollars," she stated matter-of-factly.

My fingers tightened around the leather wrap of the steering wheel.

"Why on earth would he talk about that?"

"Because he told me," she replied quietly.

My stomach did a nervous flip.

"When did he bring that up?"

"About three weeks ago," Evelyn said, looking out the passenger window at the passing trees. "He came over under the pretense of checking my air filters. Then he walked around the backyard for twenty minutes, talking about real estate values in Sequoyah Hills, before asking if I’d considered downsizing into an assisted apartment."

"Well," I stumbled over my words, trying to build a quick defense. "That doesn't necessarily mean he's waiting for—"

"Don't," Evelyn interrupted sharply.

I stopped mid-sentence.

"Don't what?"

"Don't translate him."

Those two words struck me with the force of a physical slap.

Evelyn looked forward again, her posture rigid.

"You always do that, Claire. You make him sound so much kinder than he actually behaves."

I had no defense. The car filled with an uncomfortable silence that lasted until we reached downtown.

The bank stood prominently at the corner of Gay Street and Church Avenue—a grand building of polished stone and floor-to-ceiling glass windows.

I pulled into a parking spot near the entrance and cut the engine.

"Do you want me to walk inside with you?" I asked.

"No, thank you."

"What are you doing in there anyway?"

"Just some long-overdue paperwork."

"What kind of paperwork?"

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Evelyn grabbed her purse handle.

"The kind that suddenly becomes very interesting when your adult children start calculating your home's square footage."