I started getting small reports without asking for them. Daniel had taken a photo of the kitchen and posted it with a caption about “underutilized premium coastal inventory.” Claire had asked my father for the Wi-Fi password and then, oddly, whether the security system app could be linked to multiple phones. Daniel offered to “help manage vendors.” Claire suggested maybe they should “rotate use” so everyone could enjoy the place. I shut each idea down politely and directly.
“It’s not a family timeshare,” I told them one Sunday after Daniel mentioned peak rental season for the second time in one lunch. “It’s my parents’ home.”
Daniel smiled into his wine glass. “Relax, Ethan. I’m just thinking long-term.”
“That’s what worries me,” I said.
My father heard that exchange and said nothing. Later, after Claire and Daniel left, he stood at the sink rinsing plates and said, “He doesn’t mean anything by it.”
I dried a bowl and looked at him. “Dad.”
He didn’t meet my eyes. “Claire says he’s just trying to be helpful.”