Chương 14
He approached carefully.
“Nora.”
She turned.
“Mr. Bellamy.”
“Graham.”
Her eyebrows rose.
“People call me that,” he said.
“I know.”
He looked at the peaches. “Are those good?”
“No.”
“How can you tell?”
“They are hard.”
He picked one up and pressed it with his thumb.
“Not like that,” she said. “You’ll bruise it.”
He put it back.
They stood awkwardly beside the fruit display.
“How is the historical society?” he asked.
“Disorganized. Underfunded. Pleasant.”
“Do you miss Grayhaven?”
“Parts of it.”
“Which parts?”
“The kitchen in winter. Mrs. Bellamy’s Christmas lists. Lydia hiding cookies from Caroline.”
“Caroline knew where they were.”
“Of course.”
He nodded.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
Nora glanced toward a store employee stacking apples nearby.
“This may not be the ideal place.”
“I have discovered ideal places are often a method of postponement.”
“That sounds expensive.”
“Therapy is.”
She looked at him more closely.
“I am sorry,” he continued, “for treating your judgment as a service I had purchased rather than something you gave. I am sorry for making you manage people I should have spoken to myself. And for putting you in the position of choosing between loyalty to me and decency toward my family.”
Nora’s expression remained composed, but her eyes shone.
“You paid me very well,” she said.
“That is not a defense.”
“No. But it is relevant.”
“I know.”
“I also stayed longer than I should have.”
He considered arguing and did not.
“Yes,” he said.
She selected three peaches from a different crate.
“How is Mrs. Bellamy?”
“She has an apartment in Providence.”
“I know.”
“Of course you do.”
Nora placed the peaches in her basket. “We had lunch last week.”
Graham felt the old curiosity harden into a question and let it pass.
“She is well,” Nora said.
“Thank you.”
They parted near the bakery.
That evening, Graham called Eleanor.
“Nora says your new apartment has terrible closets.”
“She has standards formed by Grayhaven.”
“Grayhaven has twelve closets no one uses.”
“You use them to store coats belonging to dead relatives.”
“They are good coats.”
Eleanor laughed.
The sound was brief and unguarded. Graham sat down on the kitchen floor because it was the nearest place available.
Their conversations had become more frequent, though never predictable. Some lasted five minutes. Others stretched through dinner. They spoke about mediation, the girls, property, and occasionally nothing important.
Eleanor told him about the laundromat beneath her apartment, where one machine shook so violently the owner had drawn a line around it in red tape. Graham told her he had finally replaced the toaster.
“What kind did you buy?” she asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You purchased an appliance without conducting due diligence?”
“Peter was with me.”
“That explains the collapse in standards.”
Caroline remained wary.
She came to Grayhaven in October to collect architectural drawings stored in the attic. Graham met her at the door and did not offer a tour of the house she had grown up in.
She noticed the empty space where his mother’s portrait had hung.
“You sold it,” she said.
“Yes.”
“I thought you loved that painting.”
“I did.”
Caroline set down her bag. “Mom hated it.”
“I know.”
“She said Grandma looked like she was waiting for permission to speak.”
“Your grandmother said the artist removed thirty percent of her personality and added it to the invoice.”
Caroline laughed.
They carried boxes from the attic together. Graham’s back began hurting after the third trip, but he refused to mention it until Caroline saw him pause on the stairs.
“You’re sixty-two, not invincible.”
“I am aware of the first fact.”
“Put the box down.”
“It is not heavy.”
“Dad.”
He put it down.
They sat on the stairs beside the carton.
Dust moved in the light from the attic window.
“I saw Harbor House,” Caroline said.
“Recently?”
“Last week. My firm is consulting on the community space.”
Graham looked at her. “I didn’t know.”
“I didn’t tell you.”
“Why?”
“I wanted one thing connected to the Trust that wasn’t connected through you.”
He nodded.
“They kept all forty-eight units,” she added.
“Yes.”
“The courtyard drainage design is better now.”
“Samuel mentioned revisions.”
“You speak to Samuel?”
“Once. He asked me not to.”
Caroline smiled despite herself.
After a minute, she said, “Mom told me about the cottage conversation.”
Graham looked toward the lower hall.
“I’m not asking what she said.”
“She said you listened.”
“I tried.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“It was exhausting.”
She nudged his shoe with hers.
“Did you mean the apology about my review?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“I don’t need you to keep apologizing for every event you missed.”
“I missed many.”
“I know. Listing them makes me feel like I have to comfort you.”
He turned toward her.
“I hadn’t thought of that.”
“I know.”
“What would be useful?”
“Come when you say you’ll come now.”
“That seems insufficient.”
“It’s measurable.”
He nodded.
Caroline stood and lifted the box.
“Leave it,” he said. “I’ll carry it.”
She looked at his back.
“Not today,” she replied.
In November, Lydia invited Graham to a school fundraiser where she was speaking about student counseling services.
The invitation included a time, address, and a note: You do not need to donate or speak.
He arrived twenty minutes early.
The event took place in a public-school auditorium with folding chairs and weak coffee. No reserved seat waited for him. He sat in the fourth row beside a father who spent most of the program trying to keep a toddler from licking the armrest.
Lydia spoke for seven minutes.
She stumbled over one sentence, stopped, and said, “That came out like it was written by a committee because it was.” The audience laughed. She continued without looking toward Graham.
Afterward, he waited while parents and teachers spoke to her.
When she reached him, she looked surprised.
“You stayed.”
“You invited me.”
“That has not always been the deciding factor.”
May you like
“No.”
He handed her a paper cup of water.
