Chương 11
Six months earlier he would have started comparing costs before she finished the sentence.
Now he said, “Thanks for telling me.”
“You’re not going to ask about the price?”
“I’m dying to.”
“Good.”
She hung up.
Two weeks later she asked Mark and Rachel to tour the community with her.
Rachel went reluctantly.
“I’m not giving an opinion,” she said in the car.
Eleanor sat in the passenger seat.
“I didn’t ask for one.”
“You will.”
“I may.”
“I’m not giving it.”
“We’ll see.”
Mark drove.
The community was twenty minutes outside the city on twelve acres with walking paths and low brick buildings.
Eleanor was right about the carpet.
It was terrible.
Rachel whispered this to Mark.
Eleanor heard.
“See?”
The apartment Eleanor was considering had one bedroom, a small balcony, a full kitchen, and grab bars in the bathroom.
The sales director explained services.
Eleanor asked questions.
Mark kept his mouth shut.
Mostly.
When the director mentioned transportation to medical appointments, Mark asked how far the shuttle traveled.
Eleanor looked at him.
“That was a logistical question.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“Your face did.”
Rachel covered a smile.
They ate lunch in the dining room.
The gravy smell was real.
Joyce appeared before dessert.
She was eighty-two, wore bright red glasses, and apparently considered Eleanor’s presence an invitation to resume the pickleball campaign.
“You don’t have to run,” Joyce explained.
“I don’t run anywhere,” Eleanor said.
“Perfect.”
Rachel laughed so hard she nearly choked on iced tea.
On the drive home, nobody discussed the place until Eleanor asked.
“Well?”
Rachel looked out the window.
“You said you didn’t want an opinion.”
“I changed my mind.”
Rachel turned.
“I think you’d like Joyce.”
“I fear Joyce.”
“That’s probably healthy.”
Eleanor looked at Mark.
He kept his eyes on the road.
“What?”
“What do you think?”
He took several seconds.
“I think it doesn’t matter what I think.”
“That is an irritating answer.”
“I think it’s a good option if you want it.”
“And if I don’t?”
“Then don’t.”
“That’s all?”
“That’s all.”
Eleanor looked out the window.
After a while she said, “I might.”
She moved three months later.
This time nobody packed her bag without permission.
In fact, Eleanor supervised so aggressively that the movers began asking Rachel questions simply to avoid asking her.
Mark carried boxes.
Laura flew in.
Rachel labeled the kitchen cabinets.
Eleanor peeled off one label.
Rachel stared at her.
“What?”
“It was crooked.”
Rachel began laughing.
Eleanor laughed too.
Laura looked between them.
“I feel like I missed something.”
“You did,” Mark said.
By late afternoon the apartment was mostly assembled.
Eleanor stood in the center of the living room behind her walker.
Her old blue armchair faced the balcony.
Her books filled half the shelves.
The photograph of Mark’s father sat beside the lamp.
The black-and-navy duffel lay empty on the floor.
Mark saw it.
So did Eleanor.
She nudged it with the front leg of her walker.
“Take that home.”
Mark looked at her.
“You don’t want it?”
“No.”
“It’s still good.”
“I know.”
Rachel watched from the kitchen.
Mark picked up the bag.
It felt lighter than he expected.
At the door, Eleanor called his name.
He turned.
She looked around the apartment.
“You know what I like about this place?”
“The carpet?”
“Don’t be stupid.”
He smiled.
“What?”
“I chose it.”
Mark held the bag against his leg.
“Yes.”
Eleanor nodded once.
That was all.
In the parking lot, Rachel opened the trunk.
Mark put the duffel inside.
Neither spoke for a moment.
Then Rachel said, “We should donate it.”
“Probably.”
“Unless you need it.”
“I don’t.”
She closed the trunk.
They got into the SUV.
Mark started the engine but did not pull out.
Rachel looked at him.
“You’re staring.”
“At what?”
“Nothing. That’s what makes it weird.”
He smiled.
“I was thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
He reached for her hand.
She let him take it.
Through the windshield, they could see Eleanor’s balcony three floors above. She had stepped outside with her walker. Joyce stood on the neighboring balcony, talking to her across the divider.
Even from below, Mark could tell his mother was pretending not to enjoy it.
Rachel followed his gaze.
“She’s going to play pickleball.”
“She absolutely is not.”
“Give it a month.”
“She can barely walk across a parking lot.”
“Give it two months.”
Mark laughed.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Eleanor.
He looked.
RACHEL LEFT HER SALAD BOWL.
A second message appeared.
DO NOT TURN AROUND. BRING IT SUNDAY.
Mark showed Rachel.
She smiled.
“She’s learning.”
“Slowly.”
“Aren’t we all.”
He put the phone away.
They drove home.
A year passed.
Then another.
Trust did not return in a straight line.
It came in small pieces and sometimes disappeared again.
When Eleanor needed cataract surgery, she asked Mark to drive her but asked Laura to handle the medical paperwork remotely.
Mark felt insulted.
He did not argue.
Three months later, Eleanor asked him to become an authorized contact on one bank account.
“Not power of attorney,” she said.
“I understand.”
“One account.”
“I heard you.”
“If you move me to Canada, I’ll haunt you.”
“Why Canada?”
“I don’t know. It seems inconvenient.”
He laughed.
When Rachel’s father had a stroke in Arizona, she flew out the same afternoon. Mark offered to go.
Rachel asked him to stay.
He almost interpreted it as rejection.
Then she explained that somebody needed to take care of their dog and check on Eleanor while she was away.
They did not have a dog.
Mark stared at her.
Rachel blinked.
“I’m exhausted.”
“You invented a dog.”
“I did.”
They laughed in the airport drop-off lane until Rachel started crying.
Not dramatically.
She simply covered her face for several seconds.
Mark waited.
Then she leaned into him.
“I’m scared.”
“I know.”
She pulled back.
“Say something else.”
“I’m scared too.”
That was better.
Her father survived.
Recovery was slow.
May you like
For several months Rachel spent more time in Arizona.
Eleanor called her every Sunday.
