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“We aren’t thinking atall,” I insist. “We are unprepared for the future. And I don’t know what will be left of Uncle Louie’s money when the FBI and the IRS settle up the bill, so I may not be able to help. I have a feeling I will end up with less than I had when I started.” I would cry, but it would take too much energy. My life hasnever been my own, and today, it’s even less so. Mrs. Cartegna is waiting for me to drop off the deposit check for my apartment in Hoboken, but with the company under investigation by the FBI, I may no longer be able to afford my own place. Instead of admitting this to my family, I go on. “I’ve saved some money, but I wouldn’t rent out the cellar just yet if I were you.”

“You still have your sense of humor.” Dad shakes his head sadly.

“That will go too,” I assure them. “You see, I knew I was Uncle Louie and Aunt Lil’s sole heir before he died—”

“So why are you punishing us because we knew?” Mom interrupts me, mystified.

“Because you kept secrets from me and made decisions on my behalf without my input. You treat me like a child or an adult who has to be protected from herself. Joe? Connie? Am I right?”

They nod in agreement.

“Here’s the fundamental problem. You don’t see me.”

“I’m looking right at you, Jess.” My father sounds pathetic. “What are you talking about?”

I turn to Connie and Joe. “Your parents didn’t offer up your private information in exchange for an undisclosed future sum of money without your knowledge.”

“Sixteen years with Cap Marble? You deserved something.”

“I would be all right, Dad.”

“Tell her everything, Philly.” My father is resigned. “She’s going to find out anyhow. She hauled home a sack of intel from Louie’s. She’ll know what we’ve done.”

I sit down, afraid my legs won’t hold me.

“We changed our will,” Mom begins. “It was always a three-way split.” My mother reaches across the table and takes my hands in hers. “But your father and I went to your brother and sister and asked if we could leave the house to you.”

I turn to my mother. “Why would you give me the house?”

“Because we used your college money to pay for Joe’s law school,” Mom blurts out.

I go numb. Joe stands up.

“What?” my brother, who never raises his voice, shouts. “I thought you loaned me your savings. I paid you back! Where did that money go?”

“The roof. The materials for the renovation of the basement. Philly’s car died. Our parents’ funerals. Four of them. Connie’s wedding. Jess’s wedding. What can I tell you? It mounted up fast. We found ourselves buried in unexpected bills; I hit sixty-five, and instead of negotiating a raise, they offered me the same job for half the salary. I took the bad deal.” Dad’s face is flushed with embarrassment, but he continues. “We were going to give Jess her savings when she graduated from high school so she could go to Rutgers. That was the plan. But you got into law school, Joe, and we had to choose.”

I can’t believe what I’m hearing, but I focus, because I want to understand how they could do this to me.

“But there was a rainbow.” Mom looks to heaven. “You began commuting to Montclair State and seemed happy. And it was just a little while later that you took up with Bobby Bilancia and we figured, she’ll want to spend time with Bobby close to home, so it was all a win-win.”

I put my hand over my mouth so I won’t scream.

“It’s a family pot; that’s how we look at it. What’s there, we share. It belongs to all of us.” My father clears his throat.

“That’s when we came up with the house idea in our will.” Mom looks at my father. “So instead of giving you the money when you got divorced, we paid off the mortgage with what was left from the money Joe repaid us for law school and our portion of the sale of Grammy B’s house to Cousin Carmine. That’s when we decided toask Connie and Joe for their permission to put this house in your name. Someday, you will have all of this free and clear. Unless we live too long and need a reverse mortgage.”

“We will never do that, Phil. Stop it.”

“Iwantedthe opportunity and the experience of going away to college. Ineededit.” I let go of my disbelief, which makes room for my anger.

“Going to college, sleeping in those coed dorms, things go on. And you weren’t cut out for all that,” Mom insists. “You had anxiety issues! How many paper bags have we gone through in this house?”

“Maybe standing on my own two feet would have cured my anxiety. I had only seen this tiny corner of the world and I wanted more. I wouldn’t have married Bobby if I had been exposed to the world.”

“Don’t say that. You were nuts about him.”

“We are not going off topic, Ma. That wasmymoney! I worked summers. Babysat horrible children. One bit me and it left a scar. Mowed lawns since I was twelve. Every time I received a cash gift, birthday, confirmation, whatever, you snatched it out of my hands and it went into my college account. You told me my money was safe. When you came to me to borrow against my savings, you told me Dad needed to pool my savings with your account to get a home loan to do the roof and furnace.”