Yet Emily had been unable, in two months, to clear even a shelf for her mother. Margaret’s belongings had remained in a bag beneath the sofa because there would always be time to “sort everything out later.”
“Mom…” Emily’s voice sounded strange even to herself. “Oh, Mom, why did you…”
She could not finish.
She pressed her forehead against her mother’s shoulder, just as she had once done beneath that table, and began to cry. It was loud and ugly, full of broken sobs, with Daniel’s jacket hanging over her thin robe.
The cab entered the courtyard while Emily still had not lifted her head.
The driver lowered his window.
“Who ordered a ride to the market?”
Before Margaret could stand, Daniel came out of the building.
Unshaven, wearing sweatpants and a sweater turned inside out, he carried his wallet in one hand.
He walked to the cab, spoke briefly with the driver, and handed him some money. The car remained by the entrance for a moment, then pulled away.
Daniel picked up the two heaviest bags. He stood there, looking first at his mother-in-law and then at the open box, where a tiny shoe was visible.
“Mrs. Foster…” He cleared his throat. “Come back inside. It’s cold. I… I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You heard us, didn’t you?”
Margaret did not answer.
Her silence was answer enough.
“You don’t need to go rent a room from Helen,” Daniel continued, his voice growing steadier. “I’ll move my desk onto the balcony. I’ve wanted to insulate it for ages; I just never got around to it. I’ll make myself a proper office and get a heater. The living room can be yours. With a door.”
“I already paid for the room,” Margaret said. “The money won’t be refunded.”
Through her tears, Emily gave a sudden, helpless laugh.
“Then let them keep it, Mom.”
The balcony renovation lasted until December.
Daniel installed insulation himself, cut the drywall, and learned for the first time how much a decent double-glazed window and frame could cost.
Margaret brought him tea, and she no longer hovered over the kettle to stop it before it could whistle.
One evening, while they were discussing what to do next, Emily looked directly at her mother and said:
“Mom, let’s leave the money from the house alone for now. Daniel and I will start saving too. In a year or two, we’ll sell this apartment and buy a three-bedroom place. Then you’ll have your own room. A real one.”
“With butterflies?” Margaret asked.
“If you want butterflies. Or giraffes.”
Helen eventually returned half the rent.
Over the phone, she said she had suspected from the beginning that “a mother like that wouldn’t stay a tenant for long.”
The twine-bound shoebox now stood on top of the bookcase in the living room.
Margaret no longer tied it shut.
Emily took the bus drawing, placed it in a frame, and hung it in the hallway beside the mirror.
At first Daniel asked what the strange picture was. Later, he stopped mentioning it.
The fan waited for summer in the corner behind the sofa.
Emily insisted they would never need it again. In their next home, she said, every room would have air conditioning.
Margaret did not argue.
But she would not allow anyone to throw the fan away.
Let it stay.
Like her, it had only come for a short visit.
And somehow, it remained.