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“I hope you’re not angry that he reached out to me,” she said before I could formulate a response. “I’m sure it’s because he thought it best to have a non–family member handle the sale, that it was less likely to cause friction.”
Since when had my father ever cared about causing less friction? I wondered. My father loved friction. He thrived on it.
“Of course, you’re more than welcome to tag along this afternoon, if you’d like.”
I could think of few things I’d like less. “No, that’s okay. I think you can handle everything on your own.”
“Great.” She rose to her feet. “Jodi,” she began, then stopped, her eyes circling the room, as if searching for just the right words. “Just so there’s no misunderstanding…”
“This isyoursale,” I said, finishing the sentence for her.
“Thank you for being so understanding.”
I smiled. What else could I do?
