Chương 15
My mother covered her mouth.
The laugh escaped her anyway.
For a few seconds, none of us knew what to do with it.
Then my father grew serious.
“We’re going to ask Jenna for repayment.”
“Good.”
“Not all at once.”
“Obviously.”
“We may never get all of it.”
“No.”
My mother looked at me carefully.
“Would you still help if she can’t?”
I thought about Jenna on the cottage floor cleaning orange soda.
About the fake invoices.
About the car repair.
About her telling her sons to apologize after spending years teaching herself that apology could wait until after rescue.
“Yes.”
My mother nodded.
“But not secretly,” I said.
“No more secrets.”
“And not because I’m the successful one who can absorb everything.”
My father looked at me.
“Then why?”
“Because you’re my parents.”
He swallowed.
That was as close as we got to anything sentimental.
It was enough.
Jenna called that evening.
I almost let it go to voicemail.
Then I answered.
“Hey.”
She sounded exhausted.
“Mark found everything.”
“Everything?”
“I think so.”
“That phrase is doing a lot of work.”
“I know.”
She paused.
“There’s another twelve thousand on a personal loan.”
I closed my eyes.
“Your name?”
“Mine.”
“Anything in his?”
“No.”
“You checked?”
“He checked.”
“Good.”
“He asked me to leave for a few days.”
I said nothing.
“I’m at a hotel.”
“The boys?”
“With him.”
“How are they?”
“Confused.”
She took a breath.
“I told them we were having adult problems.”
“That’s enough.”
“I told them none of it was their fault.”
“Good.”
She was quiet.
“I called Mom and Dad.”
“And?”
“I gave them a repayment plan.”
“That fast?”
“It’s bad.”
“I assume.”
“I can do five hundred a month once I’m working.”
“Once?”
“I got an offer.”
I sat up.
“What?”
“The interview I told you about.”
“When did they call?”
“This afternoon.”
“Did you accept?”
“Yes.”
Her voice broke slightly.
“I start in two weeks.”
I let the silence sit.
“Congratulations.”
She laughed softly.
“That sounds ridiculous right now.”
“It’s still true.”
“They pay less.”
“That’s also true.”
“I’m going to sell some things.”
“Like what?”
“The ridiculous dining table.”
“The one you made everyone remove their shoes around?”
“Yes.”
“That seems healthy.”
“And some jewelry.”
“Your choice.”
“I’m not selling my wedding ring.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“I know.”
She went quiet again.
“Mark said he doesn’t know if he’s staying.”
“That sounds honest.”
“I hate honest.”
“I’ve noticed.”
She almost laughed.
Then she said, “Did you sell the cottage?”
“No.”
A longer pause.
“Why?”
“Because I didn’t decide.”
“That’s even weirder than you making jokes.”
“I’m evolving quickly.”
“Should I be scared?”
“Probably.”
She breathed out.
“Daryl.”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
I waited.
“No explanation this time.”
Her voice was steady.
“I lied to you.”
A pause.
“I lied to Mom and Dad.”
Another.
“I lied to Mark.”
She swallowed.
“And I treated your kids like they were in the way because I wanted to feel like I belonged somewhere I hadn’t earned the right to claim.”
I looked at the dark patio doors.
“That’s closer.”
“I know.”
“You don’t get everything back because you said it well.”
“I know.”
There was that phrase again.
This time it sounded different.
Not defensive.
Just tired.
“I’m going to pay Mom and Dad back.”
“Good.”
“I’m going to pay you back too.”
“For the four thousand?”
“Yes.”
“Start with them.”
“No.”
“Jenna.”
“I owe you too.”
“You owe me something else first.”
She was silent.
“What?”
“Time.”
“With you?”
“With Eli.”
Her voice softened.
“Okay.”
“If he wants it.”
“Okay.”
“And Zoe.”
“Okay.”
“No gifts.”
“I was going to buy them something.”
“I know.”
She groaned.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
The next morning, I called Caroline at eight fifteen.
“I’m withdrawing the listing.”
She did not sound surprised.
“Completely?”
“For now.”
“And the cash offer?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
I looked through the window.
Eli’s repaired sailboat sat on the dining table.
The mast leaned slightly to the left.
“Yes.”
“Then I’ll tell them.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.”
“I wasted your time.”
“You hired me to help you make a property decision.”
“I didn’t make the profitable one.”
“That wasn’t the assignment.”
I smiled.
“Thanks.”
After we hung up, I called the hospital.
I reduced two elective blocks from my fall schedule.
Not dramatically.
Not heroically.
Just enough to protect every other Friday and two full weekends a month.
The scheduling coordinator said, “Are you dying?”
“No.”
“Getting remarried?”
“No.”
“Joining a cult?”
“Possibly.”
She laughed.
“I’ll move the cases.”
That Friday, Eli and Zoe came back.
We drove straight to the cottage.
Eli carried the sailboat in both hands.
The mast had cured crooked, but it held.
We walked down to the water where the tide was low.
Zoe wore her goggles on her forehead again.
Eli placed the boat in the shallows.
It tipped once.
He adjusted the little sail.
Then a small wave caught it.
The boat moved.
Not fast.
Not straight.
But forward.
He laughed and chased it along the shoreline.
Zoe ran after him screaming that she was the harbor police.
I stood ankle-deep in cold water with my phone in my pocket.
It buzzed once.
I ignored it.
A week later, Jenna came alone.
She brought no wine.
No luggage.
No plans.
She stood on the porch holding a paper grocery bag.
Eli opened the door.
She looked at him.
“I brought sandwich stuff.”
He looked inside the bag.
“Turkey?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
That was all the permission he gave her.
She accepted it.
They spent most of the afternoon sanding the damaged rail on the sailboat.
Jenna did not tell him how to feel.
Eli did not forgive her all at once.
Zoe made them stop twice to inspect shells.
Nothing dramatic happened.
That was probably why it mattered.
Mark did not move back home immediately.
He and Jenna started counseling separately before they went together.
He stayed with his brother for six weeks.
Some days he sounded hopeful.
Some days he sounded done.
Jenna stopped asking anyone to predict the outcome.
My parents sold their second car and moved part of their remaining savings into an account that required both signatures for large withdrawals.
My father hated the inconvenience.
My mother said that was the point.
Jenna made her first five-hundred-dollar repayment two months after starting the new job.
She sent my four thousand back in smaller pieces.
I did not tell her to stop.
By October, the cottage no longer felt like a family trophy or a financial escape route.
It felt like a house again.
A slightly overleveraged house with terrible plumbing and one deck board I kept forgetting to replace.
One Saturday evening, I found Eli at the dining table writing in his Summer at the Beach House notebook.
I glanced over his shoulder.
He covered it with his hand.
“Privacy.”
“Fair.”
He waited until I turned away.
Then he said, “You can see one thing.”
He pushed the notebook toward me.
The old list was still there.
Learn to surf.
Sleep on the porch.
See the stars with Dad.
All three had check marks beside them.
Below them he had added one more line.
Fix the boat.
That one was checked too.
I tapped the page.
“You forgot that the mast is crooked.”
He looked offended.
“It has character.”
“Convenient.”
He closed the notebook.
Outside, Zoe was shouting at Jenna because someone had apparently violated a very serious rule involving beach towels.
Jenna shouted back that beach towels did not have assigned seating.
Zoe insisted they did now.
My father was on the patio trying to repair a loose chair leg without reading the instructions.
My mother was telling him he had the bracket upside down.
Mark stood at the grill pretending not to listen while clearly listening.
They were still figuring things out.
All of us were.
Nobody raised a glass.
Nobody made a speech.
When dinner was ready, Eli carried the repaired sailboat from the table to the shelf by the window.
May you like
He adjusted it once so the crooked mast faced the ocean.
Then he came outside and closed the door behind him.
