“This is yours.”
Inside was a small wooden sea turtle painted blue and green.
“I picked it,” she said.
“It’s beautiful.”
“You can put it in your apartment.”
Rebecca stood several feet away.
She looked tired from the flight.
“Hi, Maggie.”
“Hello, Rebecca.”
No anger.
No embrace.
Just two women standing inside a home they had once built together in different ways.
Daniel came down the hallway.
“Kids, unpack. Grandma and I are going to talk later.”
“I can show her my shell first,” Emily said.
“You can show me another day.”
Emily frowned.
I crouched slightly to meet her eyes.
“Put all your treasures together and I’ll come see them Wednesday.”
“All of them?”
“All of them.”
That created a task important enough to send her upstairs.
Jack followed.
When they were gone, the three of us stood silently.
The absence of my furniture was noticeable but not dramatic.
The blue sofa was gone, leaving a rectangle of lighter carpet.
My sideboard had left an empty wall.
The coffee maker was gone.
Rebecca looked toward its former place.
“I bought a new one this morning.”
Her tone was not sarcastic.
Just factual.
“I’m glad.”
Daniel gestured toward the dining table.
“Can we sit?”
We did.
For years, I had served meals at that table.
Birthdays.
Thanksgiving.
Tuesday spaghetti.
Sunday pancakes.
Now a folder sat between us.
Daniel had brought his copy.
I had brought mine.
He looked at the pages.
“So Peter had them.”
“Yes.”
“You called him.”
“Yes.”
Daniel nodded.
“I found our copy after we got back.”
Rebecca folded her hands.
“I had forgotten the addendum.”
“So had I,” I said.
Her eyes lifted.
That seemed to surprise her.
“You did?”
“I remembered the loan. I didn’t remember it became due when I moved out.”
Daniel leaned back.
“This creates a problem.”
“I understand.”
“Eighty-five thousand dollars is not something we can produce next week.”
