"What condition?"
Harvey's eyes narrowed instantly. He looked genuinely worried I might ask for something unreasonable.
I pointed toward the pile of recyclables stacked in the corner.
"Get down on your knees and apologize to your father's memory."
The color drained from his face.
"Mom, are you serious? Dad's gone. What is that supposed to accomplish?"
I smiled.
"No apology, no house."
I reached toward the deed in his hand.
Immediately, Harvey pulled it back and gripped it like his life depended on it.
For nearly a full minute, he stared at me.
Then greed won. With a loud thud, Harvey dropped to his knees.
Facing the pile of scrap materials that still carried the smell of hard labor and poverty, he reluctantly knocked his head against the floor three times.
"There. Happy now?"
