Chương 8
Daniel waited until he was out of earshot.
"You should call Aunt Susan."
"I don't need Susan."
"She'd love an excuse to boss you around."
"She doesn't need excuses."
Daniel gave a small smile.
Margaret looked at the truck.
"Do you have somewhere safe for tonight?"
He sighed.
"We already did this."
"No, I offered you money and you insulted me."
"I didn't insult you."
"You said I make you dependent and complain about it."
Daniel put his hands on his hips.
"That's not an insult if it's true."
Margaret felt the words land.
She looked toward the counter.
The updated deed and eviction notice still lay beside the cold coffee.
"You think I do that?"
Daniel leaned against the doorframe.
"Sometimes."
"Give me an example."
"Do we have time?"
"Apparently enough for sarcasm."
He rubbed his beard.
"When my truck needed the transmission."
"You couldn't afford it."
"Right."
"I paid."
"Right."
"And?"
"And then every time I bought anything for six months, you asked if I could afford it."
Margaret frowned.
"Because you owed me four thousand dollars."
"I know."
"So that was relevant."
"To everything?"
She started to answer.
Daniel continued.
"I bought work boots, you asked how much."
"They were two hundred and eighty dollars."
"They were safety boots."
"You bought a television."
"Used."
"You went to Nashville."
"For Kyle's bachelor party."
"You see how this sounds?"
"Yeah."
He gave her a tired look.
"It sounds like you remember every expense I've had since 2019."
Margaret crossed her arms.
"That doesn't mean I was wrong."
"No."
The answer came without anger.
"It means you helped me and made sure I never forgot I needed help."
Margaret looked away.
A delivery van passed slowly at the end of the street.
The driver glanced toward the moving truck and then continued.
"I didn't mean to do that."
Daniel shrugged.
"I know."
"Then why didn't you tell me?"
He laughed quietly.
"You would've made a spreadsheet."
Margaret looked at him.
"I would not."
"You absolutely would've."
"I don't use spreadsheets for feelings."
"You have a color-coded Christmas budget."
"That is different."
Daniel laughed.
It startled both of them.
Margaret felt an ache open somewhere beneath her sternum.
She missed that sound.
Not because it meant everything was repaired.
Because it reminded her repair might still be possible.
Daniel rubbed his mouth as the laugh faded.
"Anyway."
Margaret nodded.
"Anyway."
The officer called from near the truck.
"Sir, whenever you're ready."
Daniel looked at the kitchen.
"I need the car keys."
Margaret's body went still.
"What?"
"My car keys."
"Your car isn't here."
"I left the spare set on the hook."
Margaret looked toward the little wooden rack beside the pantry.
Three hooks.
Her keys.
Paul's old key ring with nothing useful on it.
Empty space.
"I packed them."
Daniel's expression tightened.
"Where?"
Margaret looked toward the cardboard boxes already inside the truck.
"I don't know."
Daniel stared.
"You packed my car keys into a moving box?"
"I was clearing the hook."
"Why would you pack keys?"
"They were attached to that leather tag."
"The tag says Daniel."
"I wasn't reading tags."
Daniel closed his eyes.
Margaret felt defensive irritation surge before shame overtook it.
"Don't make that face."
"What face?"
"The face like I've ruined civilization."
"My car keys are in one of approximately forty boxes."
"Thirty-two."
Daniel stared at her.
Margaret pressed her lips together.
"Sorry."
The officer approached.
"Problem?"
Daniel pointed toward the truck.
"My mother packed my spare car keys."
The officer looked at Margaret.
She hated the faint sympathy in his expression.
"Accidentally."
"Of course."
Daniel looked at the truck.
The cardboard boxes had been stacked two and three deep behind furniture.
Several were labeled.
Several were not.
Margaret walked toward the ramp.
Daniel blocked her gently with one arm.
"No."
She stopped.
"What?"
"You shouldn't be climbing around in there."
"I'm sixty-two, not ninety."
"You have stitches in your face."
"They're above my eye, not in my legs."
The officer glanced down as if reconsidering where he had chosen to spend his morning.
Daniel rubbed his forehead.
"Mom, please."
The please did what irritation could not.
Margaret stepped back.
"Fine."
Daniel climbed into the cargo area.
He started moving boxes.
Margaret stood beside the officer.
Neither spoke.
A minute later Daniel called from inside.
"Why is the coffee maker in a box labeled BOOKS?"
Margaret called back, "Because I ran out of boxes labeled KITCHEN."
"That's not how labels work."
"It is when you're packing somebody else's life."
The officer coughed into his fist.
Margaret looked at him.
"Was that a laugh?"
"No, ma'am."
"It sounded like one."
"Allergies."
Daniel shoved a box toward the ramp.
"Glad everyone's having fun."
Margaret picked up the box before he could stop her.
It was lighter than she expected.
She set it on the driveway.
The tape had loosened on one corner.
A stack of old magazines showed through the gap.
"Not keys."
Daniel crawled farther inside.
Boxes scraped against the metal floor.
The officer checked his radio again.
Margaret felt guilty about delaying him.
"I can call if Vanessa comes."
He shook his head.
"You have other things to do."
"I do."
The answer was so plain that Margaret almost smiled.
"Thank you."
Daniel emerged holding a small shoebox.
"Found them."
He opened it.
Inside were old charging cables, two flashlight batteries, a folding knife, three pens, a Christmas ornament, and the leather key tag.
No keys.
Daniel stared at it.
Margaret felt her stomach drop.
"They were attached."
"They're not attached now."
"I can see that."
Daniel jumped down from the truck.
He searched the shoebox again as if keys might appear through persistence.
The officer said, "Could they have fallen in the house?"
Margaret thought of the kitchen.
The hallway.
The basement.
The boxes.
Then she remembered a metallic sound from the night before.
May you like
She had been carrying a laundry basket past the basement stairs when something small had dropped against concrete.
At the time she had assumed it was a button or coin.
