Chương 8
“I started therapy.”
Ruth blinked.
Brian laughed.
“That was not the face I was hoping for.”
“I’m adjusting.”
“I’ve gone twice.”
“And?”
“I hate it.”
“That sounds promising.”
He laughed again.
They drank coffee.
For ten minutes they discussed nothing important.
The Orioles.
A neighbor from Brian’s street who had installed a fountain shaped like three dolphins.
Murphy’s wagon.
The cabinets.
Then Brian said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were buying this place?”
Ruth looked at him.
This time there was no accusation in the question.
Only grief.
She considered lying.
Because I knew you would tell Jenna.
Because I did not trust you.
Both were true.
Neither was the whole truth.
“I was afraid you’d talk me out of it.”
Brian looked down.
“Would I have?”
“Yes.”
He nodded.
“I probably would have.”
“You would’ve said the market was bad.”
“It was.”
“You would’ve said upkeep is expensive.”
“It is.”
“You would’ve asked what happens if I fall.”
“I’m still asking that internally.”
Ruth smiled despite herself.
Brian’s eyes filled.
He looked away.
“Mom.”
She waited.
“I didn’t realize you were that unhappy.”
Ruth looked around her kitchen.
“The strange thing is, neither did I.”
He looked back.
“I thought I was adjusting.”
“To us?”
“To widowhood. To age. To needing less.”
She folded her hands.
“I started confusing being grateful with making myself smaller.”
Brian swallowed.
“I helped.”
“Yes.”
The answer hurt him.
Ruth let it.
Then she added, “I helped too.”
They sat until the coffee went cold.
Brian began visiting once a week.
Not by schedule.
Ruth refused a schedule.
“I have escaped one household committee. I’m not forming another.”
Sometimes he came for dinner.
Sometimes he fixed things.
Once Ruth stopped him halfway through tightening a loose cabinet hinge.
“I can do that.”
Brian handed her the screwdriver.
She tightened it.
It took longer.
He said nothing.
When she finished, he looked at the cabinet.
“Crooked.”
“Leave.”
He laughed.
The relationship did not heal in one direction.
There were bad days.
In October, Brian arrived unannounced and found Ruth on a stepladder cleaning leaves from the porch gutter.
He nearly shouted.
“What are you doing?”
Ruth looked down.
“Performing heart surgery.”
“Mom.”
“Cleaning a gutter.”
“Get down.”
“No.”
“You’re sixty-eight.”
“I had been informed.”
“That ladder is too short.”
“Then buy me a taller one for Christmas.”
He grabbed the side.
Ruth felt anger rise instantly.
“Take your hands off it.”
“I’m steadying you.”
“I didn’t ask.”
“You could fall.”
“So could you.”
“I’m not the one—”
He stopped.
Ruth looked down.
“The one what?”
Brian closed his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“No. Finish.”
“The one getting older.”
She climbed down.
Very carefully.
When both feet reached the porch, she turned.
“You don’t get to turn concern into authority.”
“I know.”
“Do you?”
“I saw you on a ladder.”
“And became my parole officer.”
“That isn’t fair.”
“I’m not always fair.”
The admission stopped them both.
Ruth folded the rag in her hand.
Brian stepped back.
“I was scared.”
“I know.”
“I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“Be useful without becoming… whatever we became.”
Ruth leaned against the porch post.
“Maybe ask.”
He looked at the gutter.
“Can I finish that?”
“Yes.”
He climbed the ladder.
Ruth stood below, holding it steady.
In November, Jenna asked to see her.
Ruth did not answer for two days.
Then she agreed to meet at a coffee shop downtown.
Public, but not theatrically so.
Jenna was already there.
She had cut her hair shorter.
Ruth noticed that before anything else.
Jenna stood.
“Hi.”
“Hello.”
They sat.
Jenna had coffee.
Ruth ordered tea.
For several minutes they discussed parking.
It was terrible.
That was safe.
Finally Jenna said, “Thank you for meeting me.”
Ruth nodded.
“I didn’t know if you would.”
“Neither did I.”
Jenna looked down.
Her gold wedding ring remained on her finger.
Ruth did not ask.
“I’m seeing somebody,” Jenna said.
Ruth’s eyebrows rose.
“A therapist.”
“Oh.”
Jenna gave a small smile.
“Your face.”
“I misunderstood.”
“I realized.”
Ruth stirred honey into her tea.
Jenna folded and unfolded the corner of a napkin.
“I’m not here to convince you that I’m actually a good person.”
Ruth looked up.
“That would be ambitious.”
Jenna laughed unexpectedly.
Then covered her mouth.
“I probably deserved that.”
“I’m trying to stop deciding what everyone deserves.”
“Brian told me.”
“What?”
“That you said things like that now.”
Ruth frowned.
“He discusses me in therapy?”
“With me.”
Ruth froze.
Jenna clarified quickly.
“We’ve been doing marriage counseling.”
“Oh.”
“We’re not back together.”
“All right.”
“But we’re talking.”
Ruth took a sip of tea.
“I don’t know what you want me to say.”
“Nothing.”
Jenna looked toward the window.
A delivery truck blocked traffic. Someone honked.
“I wanted to tell you something about the money.”
Ruth waited.
Jenna’s fingers tightened around the napkin.
“When my business started failing, I didn’t tell Brian because he was already worried about work. Then his bonus dropped. Then the mortgage adjusted. It became this number in my head.”
“What number?”
“How many months until we couldn’t keep the house.”
Ruth said nothing.
“I kept recalculating it. At night. In the shower. Driving. I would open our banking app at two in the morning.”
Jenna swallowed.
“Then you moved in.”
Ruth felt her shoulders stiffen.
Jenna noticed.
“I know how this sounds.”
“Then say it carefully.”
Jenna nodded.
“You had money. I knew you had money. I didn’t know how much, but I knew Henry had planned well. And suddenly the number changed.”
“The number in your head.”
“Yes.”
“You included my money.”
“Yes.”
Ruth set down her cup.
Jenna’s eyes were wet, but she did not cry.
“At first I thought, she’s family. If something terrible happens, we’ll help each other.”
“That sounds reasonable.”
“It became less reasonable.”
“Yes.”
“I started thinking you should help before something terrible happened.”
Ruth waited.
May you like
“Then I started resenting you for not offering more.”
“While I was paying bills.”
