“Cass!” her mother called. “The inspector is here! Are you decent?”

Cassie sat up groggily. “No!” she ground out, voice hoarse with sleep. “Gimme a second!”

No time for a shower. Cassie threw on whatever was at hand, double-checked that the incriminating artwork was fully buried in her suitcase, and padded out of her room.

The inspector was already in the living room; he waved merrily as soon as he saw her peering over the banister. She waved back and slouched down the stairs to make the strongest possible coffee, then nursed it blearily as the inspector went about his inspection.

Inside and outside, turning faucets on and off, down under the deck and up into the attic, taking notes on his clipboard checklist and taking pictures with his phone. She made sure to keep out of his way in the kitchen as she munched on a bagel, and kept an eye on the backyard to make sure he didn’t stray too far from the house, but he never so much as looked at the bramble.

He came back in to the kitchen at last, looking troubled. Mom ushered him to a seat and pressed a bottle of water into his hands while he flipped through his notes. “Ma’am,” he said gravely, “I’m afraid I have bad news.”

“Oh dear.”

“You have a mold problem.”

Mom wrung her hands. “Where? The bathroom…?”

“Well…” The inspector pulled off his hat and scratched hesitantly at his thinning hair. “Everywhere. To be honest, ma’am, this is one of the worst cases I’ve ever personally seen.”

Mom was speechless. Even Cassie was momentarily shocked. “I’ve never seen so much as a speck of mold,” she said, somewhat defensively. “Mom cleans everything.”

“It’s everywhere you can’t clean,” the inspector replied. “In the walls, under the carpets. I pulled back a few sections to show you. Looks like you’ve had quite a few leaks in the pipes over the years keeping everything nice and moist.”

Cassie thought in muted horror of all the bangs and drips that served as the soundtrack to every shower she’d ever taken in the house. Hell, she’d cranked up the pressure to fight for her share when somebody flushed a toilet or ran the dishwasher.

Mom looked devastated. “Is it black mold?”

“Doesn’t look like you’ve got any toxic mold, fortunately—but you’ll need a professional in to check. No health problems, right? Rashes, persistent coughs, that sort of thing?” Mom and Cassie both shook their heads. “You should be in the clear, then. But even non-toxic mold is a major problem. It’ll need to be dealt with, either by you before selling the house, or the new owners before they move in, after you’ve knocked down the cost to match.”

“Oh my goodness gracious,” Mom lamented, still wringing her hands. “How much will that cost?”

“Well…” The inspector scratched his head again. “Like I said, you’ll need to contact a professional about this, but… something this big… you’re looking at tens of thousands of dollars.” He sounded very apologetic.

“Tens of thousands of dollars!” Mom repeated, aghast.

Cassie felt a very strange emotion grab ahold of her, driving her to say, in a calm voice: “Sounds like it could be as much as a sixth of the value of the house.”

“Could be, could be.” He put his cap back on his head. “I’m sorry to be the bearer of such bad news. I want to say ‘everything else looks fine,’ in terms of electrical and so on, but…” He shrugged helplessly.

“Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln,” Cassie muttered, still feeling strange, “how was the play?”

“I’ll get this all typed up for you and send you the report, with pictures,” the inspector said. “Your son made it sound like you were in a hurry to get selling, so I’ll be sure to get it done tonight.”

“I—yes—thanks,” Mom said distractedly. “Thank you. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Oh, no trouble, ma’am, it’s my job. I just wish I didn’t have to be the bearer of such bad news.”

Mom called Matt as soon as the inspector left. He agreed to come over as soon as he could, which wouldn’t be until tomorrow, but he promised to review the report in detail and look into mold removal. Cassie barely attended to the half of the conversation she could hear; she was still tired, despite the coffee, and it was all background noise as she stared out the window, straining to see if the bramble looked any different: any thinner, or more packaged for travel. It did not.

It reminded her of waiting to get the details on Dad’s initial diagnosis. There was nothing she could do but wait and hope that things beyond her control were turning out well. Rubus could propagate himself better than she ever could.

Cassie hated it. She decided the best course of action was to go take a nap.

Mom was still there when Cassie awoke after lunch, so she claimed the need for another walk and took the long way around to the bramble again. She brought a sleeve of cookies with her, eating a couple as she went. She could hear the discordant shrieks of children and the old merry-go-round they rode from the playground in the distance. Other than that, and the occasional road noise or birdcall, all was quiet.

There was no sign of Rubus as she approached, nor any sign of how to enter the bramble from this side. She stood and considered it for a moment, chewing on her lip, before kneeling down and leaving the sleeve of cookies as far into the bramble as she could reach.

Nothing happened.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Cassie turned and walked slowly back.

Two days. This had to work in two days.

Cassie had a great deal of trouble keeping herself occupied the rest of that day, and the next. She listed Beanie Babies on eBay. She comparison-shopped for camping accouterments. She helped Mom with whatever tasks she could think of: looking for a new apartment, taking a load of old clothes to Goodwill, sorting through cookbooks. She even scrubbed the oven. And always, she thought of the bramble. She glanced at it out of every backyard-facing window. Its weight loomed on her mind. Was the rooting going all right? Was the lack of drainage through plastic bags going to be a problem, even for this short a time? Did he want milk with his cookies?

Matt’s arrival came as a relief, though he looked grim. He said little until they were all seated around the dinner table, then poked at his salad with his fork and took a deep breath. “I read through the inspector’s report. He took pictures, too. I’m not a mold expert, but he has no credible cause to falsely characterize how bad it is. I called a few mold removal contractors today, and they concurred with his estimates: this job is going to cost tens of thousands of dollars.”

Mom looked more resigned now than horrified. “What do we do?”

“Well,” Matt replied, “we can delay the sale of the house—probably by a few months—and spend our own time and money to fix the problem. Or, we can list the house as-is now for a commensurately lower price.”

“Which one should we choose?”

“It depends. Ultimately, it’s up to you, Mom.”

Mom fidgeted. “I just want to do what’s best. What do you think is best?”

Cassie listened silently as Matt enumerated the pros and cons of each option, picking her way slowly through salad and lasagna. Eventually, the conversation worked itself around to where she knew it would eventually, though she had been hoping somehow it wouldn’t: “What does Tyler think?”

Matt sighed explosively and flung up his hands. “I forwarded him the inspector’s report, but I don’t think he’s read it. He didn’t bother to respond at all, let alone with anything indicating he understands what this means for him.”

Mom frowned. “‘What this means for him’... What do you mean?”

Matt and Cassie exchanged a look. “He had me rewrite the entire agreement to lock each of us into a flat cash value from the sale of the house,” he explained slowly, “and he’d pick up the remainder. He thought the remainder was going to be bigger than the one sixth he would otherwise have received. But it’s not. In fact, he’s going to be lucky if he gets anything at all.”

“Oh!” Mom cried. Her hands flew to her face. “Oh, we should call him right away!”

Matt sighed again, less explosively, and pulled out his phone. Then he hesitated. “Mom, maybe you should call him.”

“My phone’s on the charger, honey, I’m sure it will be fine.” She waved her hands at him: go, go.

Matt made an if you insist face and dialed, then set the phone in the center of the table on speaker mode. It went to voicemail.

“Call again,” Mom urged, standing to clear the dishes from the table. “He’ll know it’s important.” Matt obliged. This time, Tyler picked up.

“What?” he snarled, over the sound of children shouting and a loud television show that seemed to feature slide whistles.

“Hey, Tyler, you’re on sp—”

“What do you want?” Tyler cut Matt off. Matt made a visible effort to calm himself before asking, “Did you read the inspector’s report?”

“Yeah,” he said shortly. “Do you need my signature on something?”

Cassie didn’t believe Tyler had actually read it. From the look on Matt’s face, neither did he. “You read the whole thing?” he asked carefully.

Tyler exploded. “JESUS CHRIST!” Cassie could hear his wife snap, “Language!” faintly before the background noise dropped significantly. It sounded as though Tyler had walked into a different room, or perhaps entirely outside of his house, before continuing his tirade. “What the fuck, Matt, are you trying to be patronizing?”

“I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page before we make a decision about putting the house on the market.”

“WHAT DECISION?” Tyler shouted with such volume that the phone vibrated on the table. “There is no decision! Put the house on the market! Jesus fucking Christ! Why is this so fucking hard for you to understand?”

Mom, who had returned to the table with a tray of blackberry muffins, opened her mouth angrily—Cassie could almost hear her thinking Is this how you talk to each other when I’m not around?!—but Tyler stormed on. “If I’d been in charge this house would be sold already! What’s the fucking holdup?”

“If we proceed immediately under the new disbursement agreement you had me draw up—” Matt began.

“So that’s what this is about.” Tyler’s voice had gone from blistering rage to icy sneer. “I’m not interested in relitigating this with you, and it’s Mom’s decision anyway. As you are so fond of reminding me. Like she’s ever made a real decision on her own.”

Matt and Cassie’s eyes flew to their mother’s face. She had closed her mouth and was turning red. Cassie opened her own mouth to shout at Tyler—call him an asshole and make it abundantly clear that the object of his scorn had heard his barb—but Matt cut her off. “Okay,” he said calmly. “Well, you’ve once again made yourself violently clear.”

He glanced up at Mom again. She gave him a tight nod. “We’ll proceed with immediately putting the house on the market. Goodbye.” He hung up.

There was a moment of silence. “The college funds aren’t impacted by the house sale at all, right?” Mom asked quietly.

“Not at all,” Matt confirmed. “And you should have enough for discretionary spending on grandkids, as long as it’s not extravagant.”

“Good.” Mom nodded and took a bite of muffin. “Good.”

“Not that this matters,” Cassie said, “but I wholeheartedly support your decision.”

Mom smiled. “You’re right,” she said, “it doesn’t matter.”

⥈

“Matt, wait.”

“Yeah?” Matt looked up as he was pulling on his coat at the door, but didn’t pause. Cassie had the distinct impression he was avoiding eye contact, but didn’t let herself dwell on it as she said, “I have something for you.” She was going to lose her nerve if she didn’t do this quickly.

He waited reluctantly.

“It’s in my room,” Cassie clarified.

Matt rubbed his face. “Fine. Okay.” He plodded heavily up the stairs behind her, making her heart thump with every footfall, and pulled her bedroom door shut behind them. “Here,” she said quietly, and gave him the sketch and the adult-sized blackberry circlet, one in each hand.

Matt took them each in turn, face draining of color. “Did you make these?” he croaked.

Cassie shook her head. “No,” she replied. “He did. He wanted you to have them.”

Matt stared at them as though they might suddenly combust, and his hands began to shake. He didn’t say anything else. Cassie swallowed. “Matt, I’d like your help with something.”

He looked up at her mutely, eyes wide. Then he looked back down at the circlet and the sketch and nodded, and finally managed to find his voice. “Yes. Whatever you need. Anything.” And then he looked up at her, eyes shining. “Thank you. Please… please thank him for me. And tell him… tell him I’m sorry.”

Cassie took a deep breath. “You can tell him yourself tomorrow.”