Their voices rose together, then stopped when Eleanor pushed her chair back.
She remained standing with one hand on the table.
“You each knew enough.”
Neither looked at her.
“One of you signed my name. The other explained why nobody should ask me questions. And both of you sat in my kitchen deciding how difficult I was going to be.”
Brooke began crying. Eleanor had seen her cry over arguments, disappointments, things broken or delayed. This time she watched without moving toward the tissues.
“I didn’t think you would actually be put out,” Brooke whispered.
“You told me to go to a shelter.”
“I was angry.”
“I was there.”
The room fell silent.
Ms. Avery asked whether Eleanor wanted a break.
Eleanor sat down again.
“No. I want to make the report.”
Brandon’s face changed.
“Mom.”
She heard the little boy in it. That was the hardest part: the boy still existed somewhere inside the man who had imitated her signature.
“I will tell the truth,” she said. “You can do the same.”
The next weeks were exhausting rather than triumphant. There were statements, copies, appointments, and nights when Eleanor woke convinced she had missed something important.
Ruth kept a calendar on the refrigerator with Eleanor’s permission. Every appointment appeared in Eleanor’s handwriting.
Brooke and Brandon signed a move-out agreement through their lawyers. They packed separately by the end of the month. Their arguments no longer concerned Eleanor’s supposed confusion; they concerned whose lies had started first.
On the last morning, Brooke stood by the kitchen door holding her keys.
“I did believe him about the sale.”
Eleanor nodded.
“I know.”
Brooke seemed relieved until Eleanor continued.
“That never required you to be cruel.”
She lowered the keys onto the counter.
“I don’t know how to undo that.”
“You can’t undo it here.”
Brooke left without another word. The keys remained where she had placed them until Ruth came over and Eleanor finally picked them up.
Brandon’s departure took longer.
He carried down the last box, then returned for an envelope containing copies of the household bills he had agreed to settle. He had found a room to rent and extra evening work.
“I’ll call Sunday.”
“Ask first,” Eleanor said.
He nodded.
“May I call Sunday?”
She considered it.
“For ten minutes.”
After his car disappeared, Eleanor walked from room to room. The master bedroom smelled faintly of Brooke’s perfume. Pale rectangles marked the walls where pictures had hung.
