Chapter 5 - THE NEW TENANT
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Back at the house, the atmosphere remained frosty. Lucas had not spoken a single word to me since Sunday night. He came home from work, grabbed a protein shake from the fridge, and retreated straight to his guest room, locking the door behind him.
If he thought the silent treatment was going to break me down, he severely underestimated how much I enjoyed peace and quiet.
On Wednesday morning, I made a phone call that I had been debating for a few days.
The voice on the other end answered after two rings. "Whitaker residence—oh, hello, Martha!"
"Good morning, Clara," I said, smiling as I leaned against the kitchen counter. Clara was a former student of mine from the community college where I used to teach accounting part-time. She was now a brilliant twenty-six-year-old actuary who had recently gone through a messy divorce and was desperately looking for a quiet, affordable place to live while she got back on her feet. "Are you still looking for a place to rent? A room, perhaps?"
There was a sharp gasp of disbelief on the other end. "Are you serious? Martha, you have no idea. My sublet fell through yesterday, and I’ve been sleeping on my sister’s couch. I’d pay rent, I’d help around the house, I’d do anything!"
"Well, I have a large six-bedroom house with an empty guest suite downstairs that currently has an ungrateful squatter upstairs," I said dryly. "How would you feel about moving in this weekend? Rent is twelve hundred a month, utilities included. You get your own private bathroom and patio access."
"I'll take it! I'll take it right now!" Clara cried out, practically hyperventilating with relief. "When can I sign the lease?"
"Come over this afternoon for coffee, and we'll draw up the paperwork," I instructed. "And Clara? Bring your own boxes. You're going to meet my son, and trust me, you'll want a lock on your door."
True to her word, Clara arrived at two o'clock with a folder of paperwork and a bright, determined spirit that immediately chased the gloom out of my kitchen. We sat at the island, sipping Earl Grey tea and going over the formal lease agreement Harold Bennett had quickly drafted for me the day before.
"Are you sure about this, Martha?" Clara asked, glancing nervously toward the upstairs hallway. "If Lucas is living here, won't this cause a massive war?"
"War is already declared, Clara," I said, signing my name across the dotted line with a flourish. "Lucas thinks he has absolute squatter's rights to this house simply because he shares my DNA. Bringing in a paying tenant with a legally binding lease is my way of reminding him that this is a commercial-grade residential property, not a family commune."
Just as Clara finished signing her copy of the lease, the front door swung open.
Lucas strode into the hallway, tossing his briefcase onto the foyer table. He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw Clara sitting at the kitchen island, surrounded by moving boxes she had brought in anticipation of her weekend arrival.
Lucas’s eyes darted from Clara to me, his face flushing a furious crimson. He stormed into the kitchen, his voice rising in panic and rage.
"Who the hell is this?! And what are those boxes doing in the hallway?!"
I didn't flinch. I slowly set my teacup down, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and stood up to face my son.
"Lucas, meet Clara," I said pleasantly. "She is my new tenant. She has signed a legally binding twelve-month lease for the downstairs guest suite."
"A tenant?!" Lucas screamed, his voice cracking. He slammed his fists onto the counter, glaring at Clara, who shrank back slightly before recovering her composure. "You rented out a room in our house?! Without consulting me?! Who gave you the right to bring a total stranger into our living space?!"
"Our house?" I repeated, stepping around the island so I was towering over him. I let out a cold, hard laugh. "Lucas, let me clarify something for you once and for all. There is no 'our house.' There is my house. You are a co-habitant governed by a thirty-day notice agreement. And as the sole owner and trustee of this property, I am fully within my legal rights to rent out every single vacant room to whomever I please."
Lucas turned his rage toward Clara, his face twisted into an ugly snarl. "You need to leave right now. You are not stepping foot in this house. My mother is losing her mind, and you're enabling her!"
Clara stood up, smoothing down her blazer. She might have been younger than Lucas, but she had spent the last two years surviving a brutal corporate divorce and a nasty custody battle; she wasn't about to be bullied by a petulant thirty-two-year-old man-child.
"Listen to me, Mr. Whitaker," Clara said, her voice dripping with icy professional disdain. "I am a paying tenant with a fully executed lease vetted by a licensed attorney. If you harass me, threaten me, or attempt to block my move-in this weekend, I will have my lawyer file an immediate restraining order and sue you for tortious interference. Have a lovely afternoon."
Lucas stared at her, utterly paralyzed. He had spent his entire life expecting people to fold the moment he raised his voice. He had never encountered a young woman who looked him dead in the eye and promised to sue him into next week.
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He looked at me, his eyes pleading, desperate, and entirely defeated. "Mom... please. Don't do this to me. What are my friends going to say when they find out my mother turned our home into a boarding house?"
"Your friends are welcome to buy you a house of your own if they're so concerned about your living arrangements, Lucas," I said, picking up my teacup. "Clara moves in Saturday at nine AM. Be sure to clear your path in the hallway."
