Chapter 6 - Sixty-One Days
By eight thirty, the apartment looked less like a home and more like a stage after the set had been struck.
The movers took the primary bed first.
Eleanor nearly lost control over that.
“You cannot take that.”
“I can. I bought it.”
“The child needs a place to sleep.”
“Camille’s child has a mother, a father, and your confidence. I’m sure you’ll arrange something.”
Camille flinched, and I almost felt sorry for her.
Almost.
She stepped toward me when Eleanor turned away to argue with a mover over the rugs.
“I didn’t know,” Camille whispered.
I looked at her.
“Which part?”
Her mouth opened, then closed.
That was the problem. There were too many parts for innocence to cover comfortably.
Arthur remained seated, rereading the lease. He looked older in the daylight. Smaller. Like a man finally forced to see the unpaid labor that had been dressed up as his success.
“You paid all of it?” he asked.
“For four years.”
“I thought the business account—”
“You thought what was convenient.”
He swallowed.
“The termination notice says sixty-one days.”
“Yes.”
“Rebecca.”
There it was. The voice he used when he wanted mercy from the person he had been starving.
I picked up my keys.
“You wanted me gone by Friday. I gave you until the lease ends.”
Eleanor turned sharply.
“You are being vindictive.”
“No,” I said. “Vindictive would have been waiting until Camille went into labor to tell you the elevators, utilities, and storage contracts are also in my name.”
Tate, the lead mover, paused mid-step and wisely pretended he had heard nothing.
Arthur put the papers down.
“Where am I supposed to go?”
I looked at him for a long moment.
May you like
Then I gave him back the sentence his mother had given me.
“You have had a comfortable life here. Nobody denies that. But circumstances change.”
