She touched the back of one of the chairs.
“I suppose you think you’ve won.”
I looked at her.
“Vanessa, I don’t see this as a competition.”
“Then why do you seem so pleased?”
“I’m pleased that we’ve reached an arrangement and that you have somewhere to live.”
She looked away.
After a moment, she said, “I shouldn’t have told you to eat outside.”
I waited.
“And I shouldn’t have claimed the house was mine.”
“No, you shouldn’t have.”
Her expression tightened.
“I was scared, Helen. Michael had lost his job. We had a child to think about. I thought everything was falling apart.”
“I understand being frightened.”
She looked at me hopefully.
“But you didn’t ask for help,” I continued. “You arrived and started issuing orders.”
Her eyes lowered.
“I know.”
I studied her.
She wasn’t crying.
She wasn’t begging.
She looked like a tired woman who had spent weeks discovering that her plans couldn’t replace someone else’s decisions.
“Thank you for apologizing,” I said.
She nodded.
Then she picked up her handbag.
“Michael’s waiting.”
I walked her to the door.
She paused on the porch.
“Will you come over sometime?”
“Perhaps. I’d like us to have a calmer relationship than we’ve had.”
