Gemotions

The will was clear. Half to me, half to my brother, Thomas. He wanted to gut the place, remodel it, and flip it. He saw only potential profit. I saw the ghost of my grandfather in the worn armchair.

"It's just a house, Michael," he said, his voice laced with exasperation. I flinched. He didn't understand.

The blood rushed to my ears. I pictured it, the new granite countertops, the stainless steel appliances. He was erasing the past, brick by brick. The thought was a physical blow.

"No," I said, my voice low and firm. I wouldn't participate. I’d tie myself to the front porch railing before I'd let him.