“He never spoke to me this way before you.”
“Maybe he never had a reason to.”
“You think you won.”
I almost smiled.
“This isn’t a competition.”
“It feels like one.”
“That may be the problem.”
Margaret looked toward the window.
For several seconds, we said nothing.
Then she spoke more quietly.
“After Richard died, that house was the only thing that still felt the same.”
Finally, something real.
“I believe you.”
“I used to walk in and expect to hear him.”
“I’m sorry.”
She swallowed.
“When Daniel moved back, it felt like I still had part of my family there.”
“You do.”
She looked at me.
“But the house can’t remain frozen in the year Richard died.”
Margaret’s expression tightened again.
I assumed the conversation was over.
Then she surprised me.
“I shouldn’t have told you to leave.”
It wasn’t graceful or warm.
But it was an apology.
“No,” I said. “You shouldn’t have.”
She looked annoyed by my response.
“Are you going to make me beg?”
“No.”
“Then what happens now?”
“You call before visiting.”
She sighed.
“I know.”
“You don’t get a key.”
“I know.”
“And if you’re angry with me, you speak directly to me. You don’t pressure Daniel to handle me for you.”
Margaret studied me.
“You’re very stubborn.”
“So are you.”
For the first time, she smiled slightly.
“I suppose that explains why we dislike each other.”
“I don’t dislike you.”
“You could have fooled me.”
“I dislike being treated like a guest in my own life.”
Her smile disappeared.
But she nodded.
