“What would?”
“Don’t ask me to make it smaller so you can bear it.”
He cried then, quietly, without reaching for me.
I stayed in my chair.
When he could speak, he said, “You were bleeding, and I did nothing.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
This time, nothing followed it.
A month later, Carol asked through Lydia whether I would meet her in a café.
I agreed to half an hour.
She arrived early, wearing a coat I had seen for years. She held her cup with both hands.
“I thought having less meant someone owed me the difference,” she said.
I watched people pass the window.
“You watched your daughter hurt me.”
“I did.”
“That is what I remember when I see you.”
Her eyes filled.
“I know.”
I didn’t offer her absolution.
But when she asked whether she could contribute toward the medical expenses Vanessa was required to repay, I told her to arrange it through Lydia.
She made payments from her wages.
We did not become close. We became able to exchange a greeting without pretending nothing had happened.
That was enough.
David and Megan renewed their lease.
I brought the paperwork myself and apologized again for the fear they had been put through.
David showed me the boxes still stacked in the spare room.
“We stopped unpacking because we didn’t trust it would last,” he said.
I understood that better than he knew.
We sat at their kitchen table and went through every page slowly.
Their daughter carried in a drawing of the house. She had made the front door enormous and colored it yellow, although the real one was brown.
“That’s so everybody can find home,” she explained.
Megan looked down at the papers.
I asked permission to keep the drawing.
It hangs beside my refrigerator now.
The first holiday afterward, I nearly canceled dinner.
I had bought a new tablecloth, soft blue linen. Still, setting the plates made my hands sweat.
Ethan found me standing over the cupboard.
“We can eat in the kitchen,” he said.
I looked toward the dining room.
“No. I want that room back.”
