Chương 14
I touched his wrist.
He looked at me.
“Sit down.”
“He doesn’t get to—”
“Sit.”
The old command voice returned without warning. Eric obeyed.
The waitress apologized.
The old man laughed and turned back to his meal.
We left cash on the table and walked outside.
In the parking lot, Eric pulled his wrist from my hand.
“You protected him.”
“I protected you.”
“I didn’t need protection.”
“You were about to confront a seventy-year-old stranger in a diner.”
“He was insulting you.”
“He was insulting you too.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
“Because I deserve it.”
The answer stopped me.
Cars moved along the interstate beyond the parking lot, their tires producing a steady rush against the pavement.
Eric looked toward them.
“I don’t know how to be sorry without making it another demand on you,” he said.
“Then be sorry somewhere I do not have to manage it.”
He nodded.
“I can do that.”
We stood beside our separate cars.
“Are you seeing anyone?” he asked.
“No.”
He waited.
I understood the unspoken question.
“No,” I repeated. “That does not mean I’m waiting for you.”
“I know.”
This time, perhaps he did.
Natalie’s pregnancy progressed without medical complication.
Mother attended some appointments. I learned this from Father, who complained that the clinic’s parking garage charged six dollars for forty minutes.
I did not ask for updates.
In October, Natalie came to the veterans’ housing office.
She arrived without warning and waited in reception wearing a camel coat over a blue maternity dress. Her hair was pulled into a low ponytail. She looked tired.
Susan appeared in my doorway.
“Your sister is here.”
“I heard.”
“Do you want me to remove her?”
“Can you?”
“No. But I can stand nearby with institutional authority.”
“That is mostly posture.”
“It has served me well.”
I walked to reception.
Natalie stood when she saw me.
Several staff members pretended to concentrate on their screens.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“I need ten minutes.”
“You have a lawyer.”
“This isn’t legal.”
“What is it?”
She placed one hand beneath her belly.
“I’m moving.”
“Where?”
“Mom and Dad’s cottage.”
“That is where I live.”
“I know.”
I stared at her.
“Did they agree?”
“Mom said we should discuss it.”
“Mother says we should discuss things when she has already decided what she wants.”
“I can’t afford the condo.”
“Find another apartment.”
“I’m seven months pregnant, my credit is ruined, and every landlord who searches my name sees the video.”
“That does not make my home available.”
“It isn’t your home.”
The words hit their target.
The cottage belonged to our parents. I had treated it as a refuge without paying rent or asking how long I could stay.
Natalie saw the effect.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Yes, you did.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I can stay in the main house.”
“Then do that.”
“Dad doesn’t want me there.”
“Dad brings you groceries.”
“He leaves them at the door.”
“That is more than some people get.”
Her face tightened.
“You got the guest cottage when your marriage fell apart.”
“My marriage fell apart because you slept with my husband.”
“And I’m pregnant because Paul slept with me.”
“You were present for both events.”
A receptionist dropped a stapler. No one looked up.
Natalie’s cheeks reddened.
“I knew you’d say something like that.”
“You came to my workplace.”
“I came because Mom won’t choose.”
“She chose in April.”
Natalie flinched.
I regretted the line immediately.
Not because it was false, but because I had used Mother’s failure as a weapon against the person she had tried to protect.
Susan stepped into reception.
“Mara, conference call in five minutes.”
There was no conference call.
I looked at Natalie.
“You cannot stay in the cottage.”
“Fine.”
She turned toward the elevator.
“Natalie.”
She stopped but did not face me.
“I will help you find an apartment.”
Her shoulders shifted.
“Why?”
“Because the baby needs somewhere stable, and because I do not want you in my kitchen.”
She turned.
“Are you going to make me sign something?”
“No.”
“Then what do you get?”
“Tenants who pay rent eventually.”
Her mouth almost smiled.
It disappeared quickly.
I contacted a property manager who worked with the housing organization. She found a small ground-floor apartment in an older building near my parents. The owner required a larger deposit because of Natalie’s credit.
I paid half.
Father paid the rest.
We did not tell Mother until afterward because she would have insisted on paying all of it and then denied using money to avoid conflict.
The apartment smelled faintly of onions from the restaurant downstairs. One bedroom window faced a brick wall. The kitchen drawers stuck unless pulled from the center.
Natalie stood in the empty living room and looked around.
“It’s small.”
“Yes.”
“The condo had a river view.”
“Paul had a river view.”
She pressed her lips together.
I brought a screwdriver from my car and adjusted the kitchen drawer tracks. Natalie sat on the counter eating crackers.
“You don’t have to fix that,” she said.
“It will annoy you.”
“You enjoy being needed.”
I kept turning the screwdriver.
“So do you.”
She considered this.
“Maybe.”
A delivery truck backed into the alley, beeping steadily.
“Do you think Eric ever loved me?” she asked.
I set down the screwdriver.
“That is not a question I can answer for you.”
“He says he didn’t.”
“When did he say that?”
“Last week.”
“You saw him?”
“He came to tell me not to contact him again.”
“Did you?”
“I asked him whether any of it was real.”
“What did he say?”
“That he used me to feel wanted.”
The sentence sounded like something his therapist had helped him say. It was probably true.
“What did you tell him?”
“That I used him too.”
“Was that true?”
“I don’t know.”
She looked down at the crackers in her hand.
“I think I wanted him because you had him.”
“That is not love.”
May you like
“No.”
“Wanting to take something and wanting to keep it are different.”
