“What’s happening this weekend?”
I pictured her standing in a busy corridor, trying to make sense of adult decisions before the bell rang.
“I’ll tell you when I can explain it properly.”
She gave a small, unhappy sigh. “Okay.”
On Saturday morning, the movers arrived at eight. By noon, the house sounded hollow. I stood in the study while two men carried Robert’s desk toward the truck.
Behind it, the wallpaper was a darker shade where sunlight had never reached.
I ran my fingers over the clean rectangle on the wall.
Then I heard Stuart’s car.
I had planned to leave before he came. Martha had agreed to meet him after I was gone and tell him how to contact me. But his footsteps were already on the porch.
He let himself in with the emergency key.
“Mom?”
He stopped in the hallway. One mover passed him carrying a lamp. Another asked me where to put a box marked bedroom.
Stuart’s face drained.
“What is this?”
“I’m moving.”
“To Cedar Grove?”
“No.”
Jennifer came in behind him. She looked at the bare walls and the uncovered stair treads.
“Where’s the furniture?” she asked.
“Some is going with me. The rest has been sold or donated.”
Stuart walked into the dining room. The china cabinet stood empty.
“You can’t just move out,” he said.
“I can.”
He turned back to me. “What did you do with the house?”
I took a breath. I had rehearsed the answer. Standing in front of him, I found it difficult to say.
“I sold it.”
Jennifer gripped the doorframe.
“When?”
“I signed the closing papers on Wednesday.”
“That’s impossible,” she said. “We would have known.”
“You know now.”
Stuart looked from me to the movers, as if one of us might tell him this was temporary.
“Mom,” he said slowly, “I thought we were going to decide together.”
“You told me what you had decided. I made my own decision.”
Jennifer stepped forward. “After everything we’ve done for you?”
I thought of the turkey, the brochure, and the call to my bank.
