Chương 12
Victoria accepted, then panicked during inspection.
The buyer’s inspector found evidence of an old leak beneath the upstairs bathroom, a damaged garage-door sensor, and an improperly vented range hood. None of the issues were catastrophic, but the buyer requested repairs or a credit.
Victoria called Maya at seven in the morning.
“They want eighteen thousand dollars.”
“Is that the contractor estimate?”
“It’s the total credit.”
“Send me the report.”
“I need you to come over.”
Maya sat at her kitchen counter in a robe, coffee cooling beside her.
“Why?”
“You understand this stuff.”
“I understand insurance forms.”
“You know how to talk to contractors.”
“So do you.”
“No, I know how to hire them. You know how to tell when they’re lying.”
Maya thought of the garbage disposal, the dishwasher, the plumbing bills, the afternoon she had spent beneath Victoria’s bathroom sink replacing a trap while Victoria attended a brunch.
“I have work,” she said.
“It’s Saturday.”
“I’m volunteering at the hospital coat drive.”
“Cancel.”
“No.”
There was silence.
Victoria said, “I could lose the buyer.”
“Ask your agent which repairs matter.”
“She says all of them matter.”
“Then get estimates.”
“I need help.”
The words were direct. No emergency language. No accusation.
Maya stared at the coffee.
“I can come after three,” she said. “For one hour.”
Victoria exhaled.
“Thank you.”
“I’m not paying for repairs.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I’m saying it now.”
“I heard you.”
Maya arrived at three ten.
The townhouse looked smaller without decorations. Half the living room had been packed into labeled boxes. The champagne bottles were gone. A pale rectangle on the wall showed where a large framed photograph had hung.
Victoria wore jeans and a gray sweater. Her hair was tied back. She looked tired.
The marble island was bare except for the inspection report, three contractor estimates, and Aunt Helen’s small wrapped gift.
Maya stopped.
“You still have that?”
Victoria followed her gaze.
“Aunt Helen brought it last week.”
“She gave it to you?”
“She said it belonged to me, but I could sell it if I needed money.”
Maya almost smiled.
“That sounds like her.”
“I haven’t opened it.”
“Why not?”
Victoria shrugged.
Maya picked up the inspection report.
They spent an hour comparing estimates.
One contractor had included work the inspector had not requested. Another had omitted permits. The third seemed reasonable but could not begin for six weeks.
Victoria paced the kitchen.
“If the buyer walks, I lose the Chicago relocation timeline.”
“You accepted the job?”
“Yesterday.”
Maya looked up.
“You didn’t tell me.”
“I’m telling you now.”
“When do you start?”
“February third.”
“That’s soon.”
“I know.”
There was fear in Victoria’s face. Not panic designed to mobilize other people. Something quieter.
Maya returned to the estimates.
“Offer a credit smaller than eighteen,” she said. “The buyer may prefer handling repairs.”
“My agent said ten.”
“That seems reasonable.”
“I’ll barely clear anything.”
“You’ll clear the mortgage.”
“And Aunt Helen’s down payment.”
Maya looked at her.
Victoria folded her arms.
“I’m paying her back.”
“Did she ask?”
“No.”
“Good.”
Victoria gave a dry laugh. “You sound surprised.”
“I am.”
“Thank you.”
“You lied to me for four years.”
“I know.”
It was the first time Victoria had said it without explanation.
Maya looked down at the report.
The range hood section included a photograph of the kitchen. In the corner of the image, the marble island appeared beneath ordinary daylight. Without the chandelier and champagne, it was only a counter.
“I found your spreadsheet,” Victoria said.
Maya looked up sharply.
“What spreadsheet?”
“The one you printed.”
“I didn’t print it.”
“Aunt Helen did.”
Maya closed her eyes briefly.
“She brought it when she gave me the bracelet.”
“That sounds less like her.”
“She said I should know the number.”
Maya placed the report down.
“How much did she show you?”
“All of it.”
The known total had grown to eighty-one thousand after Maya completed the utility records.
Victoria’s face tightened.
“I can’t pay that back.”
“I know.”
“Were you going to ask?”
“I don’t know.”
“You made a spreadsheet.”
“I needed to see it.”
“Did seeing it help?”
“No.”
Victoria walked to the far side of the island.
“I thought some of it was less,” she said.
“Which part?”
“The utilities. The insurance.”
“You never checked?”
“I knew the amounts. I didn’t add years.”
“Neither did I.”
Victoria touched the edge of the wrapped gift.
“I told myself you could afford it.”
Maya said nothing.
“I told myself you liked helping.”
“I did, sometimes.”
“That made it easier.”
“I know.”
“I told myself you didn’t want the things I wanted.”
“The house?”
“The house. Clothes. Trips. All of it.”
“I didn’t want your things.”
“You wanted a home.”
Maya looked toward the living room boxes.
“Yes.”
Victoria’s fingers pressed into the wrapping paper.
“Why didn’t you buy one?”
“You know why.”
“Say it.”
“I gave you the money.”
Victoria looked down.
The silence was not satisfying. Maya had imagined that sentence before, too. In those versions, it landed like judgment and restored a balance between them.
Here, in the half-packed kitchen, it only made both women look tired.
Victoria unwrapped the gift.
Inside was a narrow velvet box. She opened it and stared at their mother’s gold bracelet.
The bracelet was plain except for a tiny oval clasp. Their mother had worn it to work, to school meetings, and once while painting the hallway because she forgot to remove it.
Victoria touched it with one finger.
“She gave you the necklace,” she said.
“Yes.”
“The one with the blue stone?”
“It’s glass.”
“I always thought it was sapphire.”
“So did Mom.”
Victoria smiled faintly.
Then she closed the box.
“I hated that cake,” she said.
Maya looked at her.
“Not because it was ugly.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I know.”
“Why, then?”
Victoria leaned against the island.
“Because I remembered it.”
May you like
Maya waited.
“The smell. The lemon. Mom making those little roses while Dad complained about frosting on the remote.” Victoria rubbed her hands over her sleeves. “Everyone was there from work. They think I’m… I don’t know. Put together.”
