Chương 6
“Brian, this is not the time.”
“It seems like exactly the time.”
Carol looked at Ruth.
Ruth nodded slightly toward the hallway.
They began moving boxes.
Jenna stepped in front of the door.
“Nothing else leaves until we agree on the finances.”
Ruth stopped.
“Move.”
“Not until—”
“Move, Jenna.”
The room went silent.
Ruth did not speak loudly.
She did not have to.
Jenna stared at her.
Then Carol said, “I’m going to make a suggestion.”
Everyone looked at her.
“You give Ruth her papers. Ruth removes Ruth’s property. Nobody touches anybody. Nobody blocks a doorway. Nobody makes this more interesting than it needs to be.”
Jenna’s cheeks colored.
“This is a private family matter.”
“Then stop making it look public.”
Brian covered his face briefly.
Jenna stepped aside.
The file box was in the home office.
Its lid had been opened.
Ruth knew because she secured it with a small strip of blue painter’s tape across one side, an old habit Henry had mocked until the day he accidentally knocked the box down the basement stairs and admitted it was “not entirely stupid.”
The tape was broken.
Ruth stood over it.
Jenna remained in the doorway.
“I was looking for insurance paperwork.”
“Why?”
“Because we needed to know whether you were still using our address.”
“You could have asked.”
“You don’t answer questions.”
“I answer questions I consider your business.”
Jenna laughed once.
“There. That. You act like we’re trying to rob you.”
Brian said, “Jenna.”
“No, I’m tired of this.”
Ruth looked at her.
Jenna continued.
“You lived here almost a year. We adjusted our entire lives around you. We gave you a room. We gave up privacy. We dealt with the dog. We changed meals because you don’t like spicy food. We drove you places.”
“Three times,” Ruth said.
Jenna blinked.
“What?”
“You drove me three times.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know. But if we’re inventorying sacrifices, accuracy seems useful.”
Carol turned away quickly.
Ruth suspected she was hiding a smile.
Jenna’s voice rose slightly.
“You made Brian feel responsible for you after Henry died.”
Ruth went very still.
Brian stared at his wife.
“Stop.”
“He did,” Jenna said. “He was terrified to leave you alone. Every time we talked about moving, changing jobs, traveling, there was your situation.”
“My situation?”
“Jenna,” Brian said.
“No. She wants honesty.”
Ruth closed the file box.
Jenna kept going.
“We had plans too.”
Ruth lifted the box.
Brian stepped forward.
“I’ll carry that.”
“No.”
“Mom.”
“I have it.”
The box was heavier than she expected.
Carol took one side without asking.
They carried it together.
As they passed Jenna, Ruth stopped.
“You are right about one thing.”
Jenna’s expression shifted.
“Brian did feel responsible for me.”
Ruth looked at her son.
“And I let him.”
Brian stared.
“Mom—”
“After your father died, I called too often. I asked you to come over for things I could have handled. I let you fix a furnace filter because I didn’t want to go into the basement by myself.”
His mouth tightened.
Ruth continued.
“I moved here because being alone frightened me, and I told myself I was helping you too.”
Brian looked down.
“That doesn’t make what happened okay,” Ruth said. “But I won’t pretend I arrived without needs.”
Jenna’s face changed slightly.
Ruth turned to her.
“You were kind to me at first.”
Jenna said nothing.
“I know it cost you privacy. I know you and Brian fought about me before I ever moved in.”
Brian looked up sharply.
Jenna frowned.
“How do you know that?”
“Walls.”
For the first time, Jenna looked embarrassed.
Ruth shifted the file box against her hip.
“But somewhere along the way, you decided my dependence gave you rights to things that belonged to me.”
Jenna’s jaw tightened.
“You’re making this sound sinister.”
“I’m making it sound accurate.”
They finished loading the cars.
Ruth took her winter coat.
The sewing machine.
The photographs.
A small lamp.
Her books.
A quilt.
Two boxes of kitchen things Jenna had objected to because the patterns didn’t match.
The final item was Murphy’s old water bowl.
Brian carried it outside.
He stood beside Ruth’s Subaru.
“That’s everything.”
Ruth looked through the rear window.
“No.”
“What’s missing?”
She looked at him.
“You.”
He froze.
Ruth regretted it immediately.
Not the meaning.
The phrasing.
She sighed.
“That came out wrong.”
Brian gave a painful smile.
“Did it?”
“Yes.”
“What did you mean?”
Ruth leaned against the car.
Carol, understanding, walked toward her own vehicle.
“I mean I don’t know what happens with us.”
Brian’s eyes reddened.
He looked toward the house.
Jenna had disappeared inside.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“That doesn’t sound like you forgive me.”
“I haven’t.”
He nodded slowly.
Ruth touched the brass key in her pocket.
“I don’t know how long forgiveness takes.”
Brian wiped one hand across his face.
“Dad would be ashamed of me.”
Ruth’s voice sharpened.
“Don’t use your father that way.”
He looked at her.
“He isn’t here to judge you. And I’m not going to make him into a weapon because you feel bad.”
Brian breathed out.
Ruth opened the car door.
“You want to do something useful?”
“Yes.”
“Figure out why you stayed silent.”
“I know why.”
“Then figure out why that reason mattered more than me.”
She drove home.
For the next two weeks, Brian did not come over.
He texted.
Not constantly.
That was new.
How’s Murphy?
Do you need the ladder Dad gave me?
Found one of your casserole dishes.
Your mail came here.
Ruth answered some messages and ignored others.
She expected Jenna to contact her.
Jenna did not.
Instead, a letter arrived.
It was addressed by hand.
Ruth recognized Jenna’s writing immediately.
She set it unopened on the kitchen table.
It remained there for three days.
On the fourth morning, Murphy knocked it to the floor with his tail.
Ruth picked it up.
“Fine.”
May you like
The letter was two pages.
Jenna did not apologize in the first paragraph.
