“Let them hear!” Claire slammed the car door. “Helen called me yesterday. She said you’ve let God knows who move into the house. I didn’t sleep all night. I drove here from the city—”
“You drove for four hours,” Margaret corrected. “You didn’t fly.”
“Mom, do you understand what could be happening? They might be scammers. They could manipulate you, transfer the house, and leave you homeless. I know a lawyer. I’m calling him right now.”
“Call him.”
Claire stopped.
“What?”
“I said call him. Let your lawyer come and inspect the roof while he’s here. It leaked over the back entry for two years before Ethan repaired it. Maybe your lawyer knows something about roofing, too.”
Claire turned sharply toward Marina.
“How much are you paying her? Or is she paying you?”
“Nothing,” Marina replied evenly. “I offered to pay. She refused. If you want, I can write a statement saying I have no claim on the house.”
“Of course you can write a statement.”
“There will be no statements written in my house,” Margaret said.
Lily appeared cautiously from behind the folds of Margaret’s skirt.
Her knees were dirty. She still held the little garden shovel in one hand.
She clung to Margaret’s clothing and studied the unfamiliar woman with wary eyes.
Claire fell silent.
Only her expression changed. Uneasiness flickered across it.
“And there’s a child,” she said more quietly.
“Sit down,” Margaret told her. “Sit on the bench. Your hands are shaking.”
Claire remained standing.
“Then stand and listen. When was the last time you came here?”
“Mom, I…”
“I’ll tell you. Four years ago. In May. You brought a cake, stayed two hours, and left because someone from work called. I gave the cake to Helen afterward. I couldn’t have eaten it alone, not in a week.”
“I work!” Claire raised her voice. “I’m not sitting around doing nothing, Mom. I have two jobs!”
“I know. Everybody works. And everybody carries a phone in their pocket.”
The yard went strangely quiet.
Ethan froze on the roof, hammer lifted above his head.
“Six months, Claire,” Margaret continued. “You didn’t call me for six months. I stopped counting…”
She paused.
“No. That’s a lie. I didn’t stop.”
“Mom…”
“In February, I slipped beside the well. I fell and couldn’t get up. I lay on the ice, trying to calculate when someone would find me. Helen goes for bread on Tuesdays. So I thought she would see me Tuesday. But it was Thursday.”
Claire said nothing.
“Ethan ran out of the house wearing only a shirt. No coat. He lifted me and carried me inside. Sarah, the village nurse, came and told me how fortunate it was that I hadn’t been alone. Marina sat beside my bed on a stool for three nights. She bought my medicine with her own money.”
Margaret looked toward the back of the house.
“I scolded her for a week afterward.”
“Why didn’t you call me?” Claire cried.
“Who was I supposed to call? The dial tone?”
Marina quietly took Lily’s hand and moved toward the summer kitchen.
Claire did not notice.
“You are not a stranger to me,” Margaret said, her voice calmer now. “You are my daughter. I love you, even if you no longer believe that. But for four years, I did not have a daughter. I had people around me. Strangers. They carried my water. They brought bread. They tucked in my blanket. They bought me glasses because the ones I owned were held together with tape.”
She stepped closer to Claire.
“If my own daughter does not need me, then let strangers help. At my age, you don’t get to choose whose hand brings you a glass of water.”
“I sent you money!” Claire’s voice broke. “Every other month!”
“You did. It’s still there, every penny. You can take it back and buy yourself some peace of mind.”
Margaret drew a tired breath.
“I didn’t need money, Claire. I needed someone to ask whether I had eaten lunch.”
Claire walked into the house without another word.
Perhaps she did not want to cry in front of strangers. Perhaps she simply had no idea where else to go.
She stopped in the middle of the kitchen.
That was when she saw the wall beside the stove.
Lily’s drawings covered it.
There were hens.
A cat named Whiskers with enormous, crooked whiskers.
A house with yellow smoke rising from the chimney.
And, on a separate sheet, a woman with a dark bob, a gray jacket, and oversized earrings.
The picture had been drawn with extraordinary care. The pencil had been pressed so hard into the paper that the page was dented in places.
At the bottom, in uneven block letters, Lily had written:
“GRANDMA’S CLAIRE.”
“Who is that?” Claire asked, though she already knew.
Lily peered around the doorframe.
“That’s you,” she whispered. “Grandma showed me your photograph. She said you would come for the holidays. I drew you ahead of time so it would already be hanging when you arrived.”
Claire stood with her back to the doorway for a long while.
Then she lowered herself onto the bench.
And began to cry.
Not gracefully.
Not quietly.
She cried like a child, covering her mouth with one hand so Lily would not hear.
Margaret walked over and placed her palm on Claire’s head.