Gerald stood near the edge of the porch, watching my father approach.
The guests were beginning to arrive, and the timing clearly bothered him.
Dad noticed.
He didn't hurry.
He held the folder against his side and stopped where Gerald could hear him without raising his voice.
"I told you I was coming back about the document."
Gerald glanced toward the driveway.
Then he looked at the folder.
"What document?"
Dad didn't answer immediately.
He opened the folder and took out the signed page.
The same page Gerald and his wife had signed two weeks earlier.
Gerald stared at it.
For a moment, he seemed to be trying to remember the conversation near the garage.
Then he looked toward the house again.
"Now isn't a good time."
Dad nodded slightly.
"I understand you're having an event."
"Then you understand you can't come here and cause a disturbance."
"I'm not causing anything."
Dad's voice stayed even.
"I'm here to discuss what you signed."
Gerald extended his hand.
Dad let him look at the paper.
The husband scanned the page, and whatever confidence he had recovered began to fade.
He looked at the signatures.
Then he looked at my father.
"What exactly are you trying to accomplish?"
Dad didn't give him an argument.
He told Gerald that the document had been signed by both of them, and he wanted them to address it.
Gerald's jaw tightened.
He glanced back toward the porch, where his wife was standing.
She had noticed the conversation and was watching them.
A couple of people had reached the property.
One of them paused near the flowers by the entrance.
Gerald lowered his voice.
"You need to leave."
Dad folded the page carefully.
"I'll leave when we've finished talking."
I later wondered what Gerald expected.
Perhaps he thought my father would be embarrassed by the attention.
Perhaps he assumed Dad would be frightened by the prospect of upsetting a wealthy couple in front of their guests.
Or perhaps Gerald had simply never imagined that someone he considered powerless would return to challenge him.
Whatever he expected, Dad wasn't behaving as he had near the garage.
He wasn't asking for money.
He wasn't trying to persuade Gerald to honor a promise.
He was asking him to deal with the document he had signed.
That difference mattered.
Gerald called his wife over.
She came down from the porch with her phone still in her hand.
"What is this about?" she asked.
Gerald held out the paper.
"He's back about this."
Mrs. Prescott looked at Dad.
Then she looked at the document.
Her expression changed when she recognized her own signature.
"I signed that already."
Dad nodded.
"Yes."
"So why are you bringing it back?"
"Because you signed it."
She looked at her husband as though he might have an explanation.
Gerald didn't offer one.
Instead, he asked Dad what he wanted.
Dad answered plainly.
"I want you to acknowledge what you agreed to."
Mrs. Prescott gave a short, impatient laugh.
"We didn't agree to anything beyond the painting contract."
Dad didn't argue with her memory.
He simply held the page where she could see it.
"You signed this after we discussed the balance."
She looked down again.
Her fingers tightened around her phone.
I wasn't there to witness that moment, but Dad described it to me later.
He said the most noticeable thing was how quickly the Prescotts had changed from being amused to being cautious.
They had signed the page without examining it carefully.
They had assumed it was nothing important.
Now they were being asked to account for it, in front of a house they were preparing to show to strangers.
Gerald took another look.
He seemed to be searching for something that would allow him to dismiss the matter.
"This doesn't change the fact that we're over budget."
Dad let that statement sit between them.
Then he answered.
"Your budget isn't what we agreed on."
Gerald's face reddened.
Mrs. Prescott looked toward the arriving guests.
One of them had begun walking toward the porch.
She stepped slightly away from the driveway, apparently hoping to keep the conversation from becoming a public spectacle.
Dad didn't follow her.
He didn't block her path.
He simply waited.
That was one of the things he had learned over fifty-one years of dealing with customers.
If a person wanted to avoid a question, filling the silence for them rarely helped.
Gerald finally spoke again.
"We'll deal with this later."
Dad nodded.
"Then tell me when."
Gerald didn't answer.
The silence grew awkward.
A guest greeted Mrs. Prescott from the entrance.
She turned toward the voice and forced a smile.
"Welcome. We're just getting everything ready."
The visitor glanced at Dad.
Then at Gerald.
Neither of them explained the situation.
Dad stepped away from the main entrance so the guests could pass.
He wasn't interested in embarrassing anyone for its own sake.
He wanted the matter settled.
But he wasn't going to pretend that the matter had disappeared simply because the Prescotts had visitors.
Gerald followed him a few steps down the driveway.
"Listen," he said quietly. "You did the work. We have the house. I don't see what you expect to gain by coming back here."
Dad looked at him.
"Payment for the work."
"We've already discussed that."
"No. You told me you weren't paying."
Gerald glanced toward the porch again.
He was becoming increasingly aware of the people arriving.
Dad could see it.
And for the first time, Gerald seemed to understand that the conversation was no longer entirely under his control.
He had wanted to refuse the money in private.
He had expected Dad to leave.
He had not expected to see him again at the moment when the house was supposed to be presented as a finished success.
Gerald tried a different approach.
"How much trouble do you think this is worth?"
Dad didn't raise his voice.
"That's not the question."
"What is the question, then?"
"Whether you're going to honor what you signed."
Gerald looked down at the document again.
He didn't answer.
Dad took the page back and placed it inside his folder.
Then he waited.
The guests continued arriving.
The balloons moved beside the mailbox.
A car door closed somewhere behind them.
The house stood exactly as it had when Dad finished the job.
Fresh paint.
Careful edges.
A clean porch.
All the things the Prescotts wanted prospective buyers to notice.
Dad had done his part.
Now he wanted them to do theirs.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: The Signatures Were Theirs, the Contract Had Never Changed, and Suddenly the Prescotts Had Questions They Should Have Asked Earlier
I Thought Fifty-One Years of Honest Work Would Protect My Father, Until Two People Decided His Age Made Him Easy to Cheat
Part 5 of 12
