Clara rose first. She left the biscuits, the tea, and every attempted explanation on the table.
At the threshold, she turned toward Ruth.
“I’ll send the messages tonight.”
“Send all of them,” Ruth said.
Clara nodded.
Julian lingered by his chair.
“Don’t call me when this money runs out.”
Ruth gripped the edge of the table, but she did not take back her decision.
Nora waited beside the open door until he walked through it.
She locked it after him.
The sound was small.
Ruth folded forward, pressing both hands over her mouth.
Nora knelt beside her chair.
“I raised him,” Ruth whispered.
“Yes.”
“I taught him to say thank you.”
“I know.”
“I used to leave the last strawberry for him.”
Nora leaned her forehead against her sister’s shoulder.
There was nothing useful to say about the strawberry.
For a long time they stayed that way, one woman in the chair and one on the floor, while the tea cooled beyond saving.
That evening, Ruth slept in Nora’s spare room.
Before bed, she asked whether she should put her suitcase away in the morning.
Nora looked at the little case standing neatly against the wall.
“Only if you want your clothes out.”
“I don’t want to be in the way.”
“You’re not furniture, Ruth.”
Her sister sat on the bed and began crying again.
This time, Nora sat beside her.
The days that followed were neither swift nor clean. There were statements to correct, records to request, and questions Ruth answered more than once. Nora drove her to appointments but waited outside when Ruth wanted to speak alone.
