Chương 6
Serena gave a tired smile. “Mom was right about that.”
Clara looked at the glass of water.
“I thought the money meant they believed in me,” Serena said.
“They did.”
“Did they?”
“Mom sold a house for you.”
“That isn’t belief. That’s compulsion.”
Clara looked at her sister. “It can be both.”
Serena’s eyes filled, but she blinked the tears back. “You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Make the complicated thing sound simple.”
“I spent three years telling myself it was simple.”
“And tonight?”
“Tonight ruined it.”
A small laugh escaped Serena. She covered her mouth, embarrassed by the sound.
Clara almost smiled.
Then Serena said, “Are you really going to make them sign a lease?”
“Yes.”
“That will humiliate Dad.”
“He needs to understand where he lives.”
“He does now.”
“Knowing something for one night isn’t the same as living with it.”
Serena studied her. “You sound like Mom.”
Clara’s shoulders stiffened.
“I’m sorry,” Serena said.
“No, you’re not.”
“I am. I also think it’s true.”
Clara stood and crossed to the window. Richard’s hydrangeas had collapsed under the rain. The walkway lights cast pale circles across the wet yard.
She had wanted the house to become evidence. Proof that she was not the careless daughter, the disappointing daughter, the temporary daughter who arrived in uniform and left before anyone had to rearrange their life around her.
Ownership had seemed clean on paper.
From the window, she could see the roofline she now had to insure, the retaining wall that the inspection report said might fail, and the old cedar tree whose roots had begun lifting the driveway.
The house was not proof.
It was maintenance.
“I don’t want to be her,” Clara said.
Serena leaned back in the chair. “Neither do I.”
They looked at each other.
It was the first honest thing they had agreed on in years.
The next morning, Richard was in the driveway before dawn, wearing loafers without socks and his navy sweater under a raincoat. Clara saw him from the kitchen as she poured coffee.
He stood beside the cedar tree, staring up at the house.
Marjorie had left a handwritten note beside the coffeemaker: Turkey sandwiches for lunch. Please do not use the good knife.
Clara drank from a mug shaped like a smiling pumpkin.
Elise entered wearing yesterday’s blouse beneath a borrowed cardigan. She opened the refrigerator and stared inside.
“Your mother has seven kinds of mustard,” she said.
“She always has.”
“I know. I still find it aggressive.”
Clara smiled despite herself.
Elise took out the milk and poured some into a saucepan. “Your father didn’t sleep.”
“Neither did anyone else.”
“Marjorie slept.”
“How do you know?”
“She snores when she’s angry.”
The ordinary cruelty of the observation made Clara laugh once.
Elise looked pleased.
Then she turned down the burner and said, “You shouldn’t have done it at dinner.”
“I know.”
“You also might not have been able to do it any other way.”
Clara leaned against the counter.
Elise stirred the milk with a wooden spoon. “Your mother would have delayed. Your father would have refused to read. Serena would have scheduled a call and then moved it twice.”
“You’re defending me.”
“I am describing the problem.”
Outside, Richard put one hand against the cedar trunk.
“He looks lost,” Clara said.
“He has spent thirty years believing the things around him were evidence that he had succeeded.”
“He did succeed.”
“In some ways.”
Elise poured the warm milk into her coffee. “Success is dangerous when people use it as a substitute for attention.”
Clara looked at her aunt. “Did you rehearse that?”
“No. It sounded better in my head.”
Richard came in through the mudroom carrying rain on his shoulders. He removed his coat and hung it neatly.
“Do you have the inspection report?” he asked Clara.
“Yes.”
“I want to see it.”
She retrieved the file from her bag.
He read it at the kitchen island while Elise made toast. Marjorie entered fifteen minutes later in a cream robe, fully made up except for lipstick. She saw the report and stopped.
“What is that?”
“The inspection,” Richard said.
“We have maintained this house.”
“The retaining wall is failing.”
“It has been leaning for years.”
“Walls aren’t supposed to lean.”
Marjorie opened a cabinet and took down her tea. “The inspector was probably trying to justify his fee.”
Richard turned a page. “The electrical panel needs replacement.”
“We have never had a problem.”
“That’s what people say before a fire.”
Clara watched them exchange irritation over ordinary repairs. The argument sounded almost comforting. For the first time since the envelope hit the table, the house was something they could discuss without discussing betrayal.
Then Richard reached the financing section.
“What did you borrow?”
Clara told him.
His eyebrows rose.
“The interest rate is high.”
“It was the rate available.”
“You should refinance.”
“I plan to.”
“Not now. Rates are terrible.”
“Waiting costs more.”
“You need to compare.”
“I have.”
“How many lenders?”
“Four.”
Richard looked at her over the report. “Four is not a market.”
Clara’s patience thinned. “You learned yesterday that you don’t own your home. Maybe don’t begin today by managing the mortgage.”
Elise lowered the toast into the toaster and did not turn around.
Richard’s face closed.
Clara regretted the words immediately, but not enough to take them back.
He placed the report on the counter. “I’ll be in the den.”
After he left, Marjorie spooned tea into the pot with careful movements.
“You enjoyed that,” she said.
“No.”
“You keep saying no as though repetition makes it true.”
Clara carried her mug to the sink. “I’m going back to Bremerton.”
“You said you were off until Monday.”
“I am.”
“Then why leave?”
“Because this isn’t helping.”
Marjorie’s hand stopped above the teapot. “Running away in uniform is still running away.”
Clara turned.
Elise stepped between them without appearing to. She held out the plate of toast.
“Anyone?” she asked.
May you like
Nobody took one.
Clara went upstairs, packed her jacket, and changed into jeans and a dark sweater. Serena’s door remained closed. Richard did not come out of the den.
