His expression shifted. “The garage,” I said.
“Dad, we were going to explain.”
“You explained it to each other.”
“We need the space.”
“It isn’t your space to need.”
He leaned back. “You have unused rooms.”
“One of them became your office.”
“I need an office.”
“You have one at work.”
Then he said it: “The baby needs somewhere to sleep.”
I looked at him. “Then you need to find a home with somewhere for your baby to sleep.”
His jaw tightened. “You’d put us out before your grandchild is born?”
I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I opened the drawer beside me. Inside was the folder with the deed, the final mortgage statement, the insurance documents, and the property records. Carol and I had paid for that house for thirty-two years.
I placed the folder on the kitchen table. Brianna had come into the room by then. She looked at the papers. Then at me.