Chapter 11 - The Man Across the Road
Mr. Hanley had lived opposite the farmhouse for thirty-nine years. He testified without looking at my father, which somehow made every answer harder to dismiss.
"Who cares for the place?" Tessa asked.
"A tenant cuts the hay. Evelyn pays him for repairs outside the lease. I check the pipes when she asks."
"How often did Robert come by?"
"Not much. Once when Joseph died. Couple of times after. More often this spring."
He took out photographs he'd made with an old digital camera. Six months earlier, Dad had arrived with two men carrying measuring wheels. They walked the road frontage and marked the line near the east pasture. In another photo, Dad stood at the back entrance holding a pry bar.
"He told me he'd lost his key," Mr. Hanley said. "I told him Evelyn had never given him one."
Dad interrupted. "I was checking whether the door was rotten."
"Then you checked it hard enough to bend the strike plate," Mr. Hanley answered.
The judge asked him to stick to what he saw. Mr. Hanley did. He described the fresh damage, the truck's plate number, and the date on the images. He didn't claim to know what was in my father's head.
That distinction mattered. Dad had spent years turning guesses into official family history. Mr. Hanley offered only facts he could stand behind.
When he finished, I caught his eye. His nod was small. He'd never been much for speeches.
The judge asked whether either side had more to present on the temporary order. Bledsoe's replacement had not yet appeared. Mom's new attorney said she didn't oppose preserving the property until the disputed documents were examined.
My father's expression changed. For the first time, his wife had taken a position without checking his face.
Judge Simmons said he'd issue a written ruling after considering the evidence and the risk of irreversible harm from a closing. Until then, his existing preservation directive remained in place.
Dad left the courtroom ahead of everyone, walking fast enough that Mom didn't have a chance to follow.
She watched the door swing shut.
"He used to slow down for me," she said.
May you like
Then her phone buzzed. She read the message, gripped the edge of the bench, and turned the screen toward me.
Don't come home until I say so.
