Chapter 15 - The Room Was Open When We Left
By Lily's eighth birthday, Room Three no longer had a lock.
Margaret removed it herself.
She didn't ask me first because it was her door.
Correct.
She converted half the room into a guest room.
The workbench stayed.
The yellow bookshelf went to Lily.
The crooked coffee table Nathan made years earlier remained in my apartment because apparently grief did not improve its legs.
Margaret and I were still difficult.
That was probably healthier than pretending we had become close.
Lily saw her regularly.
For months, always with me or Jason nearby.
Eventually I let Margaret take Lily to a Saturday matinee alone.
I spent the entire two hours checking my phone.
Margaret brought her home exactly when she said she would.
No extra shopping trip.
No surprise sleepover request.
No “Lily wanted” used as leverage.
Just:
“Thank you.”
I hated how emotional that made me.
The next month I let them go again.
Trust returned in boring pieces.
That was the only kind I believed.
Miles came to Lily's birthday this time because I invited him.
He brought no mysterious objects.
Just a board game.
Margaret hated the board game because it took ninety minutes.
Lily loved it.
Ethan was eleven now and deeply offended that everyone still remembered the rabbit incident.
“I was the one who donated it.”
“You started history,” Lily told him.
“I put trash in a box.”
“History.”
The white rabbit sat upstairs on Lily's bed.
Blue thread still visible beneath Miles's cleaner repair because Lily had refused to let him remove all of mine.
Nathan's terrible copy rabbit sat beside it.
One elegant.
One ridiculous.
Both allowed.
After cake, Margaret approached me near the carriage-house door.
“Can I ask something?”
“Yes.”
“Are you moving?”
My stomach tightened.
Jason had apparently told her I had interviewed for a job in Denver.
Of course he had.
I looked across the yard.
“Jason.”
Margaret caught my expression.
“I asked him whether you were changing jobs. He answered.”
Different.
Still annoying.
“I interviewed.”
“In Denver.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward Lily.
I saw the fear start.
Then watched what she did with it.
“When would you decide?”
“Next month.”
“Do you want my opinion?”
That was almost funny.
“No.”
Margaret nodded.
“Okay.”
I waited.
She didn't give it.
That took effort.
“What are you thinking?” I asked.
Her face changed.
“You just said—”
“I'm asking now.”
She looked toward the open door of Room Three.
“I think Nathan wanted to go there.”
“Maybe.”
“He never decided.”
“No.”
“And now you might.”
“Yes.”
Her eyes filled.
“I don't want you to.”
I appreciated the sentence because it did not pretend to be about schools, cost of living, weather, or Lily needing stability.
“You'd miss us.”
“Yes.”
“That's allowed.”
Margaret laughed softly.
“Generous.”
“I try.”
She became serious again.
“Would Lily want to go?”
“I don't know yet.”
“You haven't asked?”
“Not until there's an offer.”
Margaret nodded.
“Would I still see her?”
“Yes.”
“How often?”
“I don't know.”
Her jaw tightened.
Old reflex.
Need number.
Need schedule.
Need control before uncertainty gets comfortable.
She looked down.
Then said:
“Tell me when you know.”
I stared.
“That’s it?”
“I'm sixty-four next month. I occasionally learn.”
I smiled.
“Slowly.”
“Runs in the family.”
Fair.
Inside Room Three, Miles was showing Ethan how to repair a loose chair rung while Jason held the flashlight wrong.
Lily sat on the floor beneath the window.
She was reading beside Nathan's old workbench.
No ghosts.
No secrets.
Just space.
I walked inside.
The brass key sat on the workbench.
Margaret had returned it after removing the lock.
“You want this?” she asked.
I picked it up.
Turned it once in my fingers.
A year ago that key had seemed capable of changing my entire past.
It hadn't.
It opened a room.
People changed the past afterward by finally admitting what they had done inside and around it.
I handed the key to Margaret.
“I don't need it.”
She looked surprised.
“Throw it away?”
“Do whatever you want.”
That was harder than keeping it.
Lily looked up.
“Mom?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we going to Denver?”
Margaret went still.
I looked at my daughter.
“Maybe.”
She considered that.
“Do they have snow?”
“Yes.”
“Good snow?”
“I don't know.”
“Can Bunny come?”
“Yes.”
She nodded.
“Okay.”
That was apparently enough information for seven—almost eight.
Margaret looked out the window.
I could feel the question still inside her.
Are you taking her away?
She didn't ask it.
I sat beside Lily.
Across the room, Margaret placed the useless brass key in a drawer.
Maybe she would throw it away later.
May you like
Maybe she wouldn't.
The door stayed open either way.
