Chapter 9 - We Lived With Margaret Because I Thought Nathan Had Chosen Against Us
After Nathan died, Lily and I moved into Margaret's house for eight months.
I called it temporary.
Then recovery.
Then practical.
My apartment lease expired and I did not renew it.
Margaret handled meals.
Childcare.
Funeral bills.
Preschool pickup.
When I woke at three in the morning convinced I had heard Nathan's truck, Margaret sat with me until sunrise.
That care was real.
So was everything else.
I found her in the laundry room.
“Did you want me living here after Nathan died?”
She looked almost offended.
“Of course.”
“Did you think I would stay if I believed Nathan had been planning to move us away from you?”
She stopped folding a towel.
“What are you asking?”
“Did you make his marriage look worse because you thought grief would keep us here?”
Her face hardened.
“No.”
Too quick.
“Margaret.”
“I did not invent your problems.”
“I know.”
“You were fighting.”
“I know.”
“He stayed out here.”
“I know.”
“He packed things without asking.”
“I know.”
She threw the towel down.
“Then why are you making me responsible for your marriage now?”
“I'm not.”
That stopped her.
“I’m making you responsible for what you did after it ended.”
Silence.
“Did you ever plan to show me Room Three?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I thought it would destroy you.”
“Or make me leave.”
Margaret looked away.
Both.
“What did you tell me about the apartment brochure police found?”
“That he was looking for somewhere else.”
“Did you know the application listed three occupants?”
Her face changed.
So she did.
“Margaret.”
“Yes.”
My stomach tightened.
“You knew.”
“I saw a copy.”
“And said nothing.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“You were barely functioning.”
“Stop making timing permission.”
She flinched.
Good.
“What did you think would happen if I knew?”
Margaret looked toward the kitchen where Lily was drawing with Ethan.
“You would start romanticizing his plan.”
“What plan?”
“Taking you away.”
I almost laughed.
“You still call it taking.”
Her face hardened.
“He wanted to move to Denver.”
That was new.
“What?”
“He had spoken to a company there.”
“Job?”
“Yes.”
“Did he accept?”
“No.”
“Did I know?”
“No.”
“What did you do?”
“I asked him not to.”
“That's allowed.”
“He told me it wasn't my decision.”
“Also allowed.”
Margaret stared.
“Easy for you.”
“Yes.”
I didn't soften it.
“What happened?”
“He said he would ask you.”
“When?”
“The week he died.”
Again.
Nathan was not secretly dragging us across the country.
He was secretly preparing the possibility and finally beginning to understand that preparation wasn't consent.
Messy.
Human.
“What did you think I would say?”
“I thought you'd go.”
“Why?”
Margaret looked at me like the answer was obvious.
“Because you loved him.”
“And?”
She struggled.
“Because you were tired of me.”
That one cost her.
“Yes.”
She knew.
“How much of Nathan's room did you clear before I moved in?”
“Most personal things.”
“Where did they go?”
“Attic. Some storage.”
“Did you destroy anything?”
“No.”
“Throw anything out?”
She hesitated.
“Broken furniture.”
“Anything with my name?”
“No.”
“Lily's?”
“No.”
I believed that much.
“What did you do with the apartment application?”
“Gave it to the insurance file.”
“Did you tell anyone it listed us?”
“No.”
“Why?”
Same answer.
She no longer wanted to say it.
“Because if I knew Nathan had planned for us—”
“I thought you would leave.”
There.
Again.
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
I stared.
“You weren't scared I'd fall apart.”
“I was.”
“You were also scared I'd recover somewhere else.”
Her eyes filled.
“Yes.”
The word came out small.
Margaret sat.
“My husband had been dead six years. Nathan was the person who still came for Sunday dinner without being asked. Then he started saying no.”
She rubbed her forehead.
“Then he died.”
I stayed standing.
“And suddenly Lily was the only piece of him who still ran into my kitchen.”
I looked toward the doorway.
Lily was laughing at something Ethan drew.
That did not make her a piece.
She was herself.
Margaret continued:
“I knew if you moved, I'd see her less.”
“You could have asked me.”
“What if you said no?”
The entire family problem in one question.
I sat opposite her.
“Then you would have had an answer.”
Margaret looked at me.
She hated the sentence.
That didn't make it cruel.
“What happens now?” she asked.
“I don't know.”
“With Lily?”
“I don't know.”
Her fear appeared immediately.
I watched her fight the urge to argue.
Then she said:
“Okay.”
Not graceful.
Not calm.
But she did not turn fear into a demand.
I stood.
“Jason and Ethan are leaving tonight.”
She nodded.
“Lily and I are too.”
Her face tightened.
“When will I see her?”
“I'll call you.”
“When?”
I looked at her.
She stopped.
“Right.”
Progress can be ugly.
I packed our overnight bags.
Lily carried the rabbit herself.
May you like
Margaret watched from the hallway.
She did not reach for it.
