Chapter 9
Emma came to visit in June.
It was the first time she had entered the house since moving to Richmond. She stood on the porch with her overnight bag and looked at the door for a moment.
“You don’t have to stay,” I said.
“I want to try.”
I stepped aside and let her go in first.
The house had changed. Vanessa’s boxes were gone. Rachel’s sewing room had no lock. I had set a small table there for Emma’s drawings, but I had not filled the space with things I thought she should want.
Emma walked into the room.
“You kept Mom’s machine?”
“The one in Richmond is the small one she used for travel. This is the one she taught on.”
She ran her hand over the cover.
“I remember sitting on the floor while she worked.”
“I remember stepping over you both to reach the window.”
She smiled.
We spent the afternoon going through old photographs. Some showed Emma as a child. Others showed Rachel before either of us knew her. Emma chose a few to take home. She left the rest for another visit.
At dinner, she sat in the chair where I had found her with the cash. I watched her pause as she noticed.
“We can eat somewhere else,” I offered.
“No. I want this room to be a room again.”
We ate and talked about her work. Afterward, she asked for the receipt book.
I had kept it in a folder with the payment records. She looked at the three entries Vanessa had made, then at the empty September line.
“I wanted to see it once,” she said.
“Would you like to keep it?”
“No.”
She handed it back.
“What do you want me to do with it?” I asked.
“Put it away. I don’t need it in front of me anymore.”
I closed the folder and placed it in the cabinet. When I turned, Emma was crying.
“I’m happy here,” she said quickly. “I just keep remembering how alone I felt.”
I sat beside her.
“I’m sorry you were alone in a house with me.”
“You didn’t know everything.”
“I knew you were pulling away. I wish I’d stayed with that question longer.”
She wiped her face.
“I’m here now.”
“You are.”
That evening, she chose to sleep in her old room. I heard her move around upstairs for a while, then the house went quiet.
In the morning, she came down with her hair tied back and asked for pancakes. It was such an ordinary request that I nearly cried. I made too many, and we ate them at the dining table.
The divorce was finalized in July. Vanessa called me afterward. She sounded tired but calm.
“I hope Emma is well,” she said.
“She is.”
“I don’t expect a message from her.”
“She read your letter.”
“That’s more than I thought she might want to do.”
Vanessa had returned to school for a bookkeeping certificate. Celia was paying back the help she had received. I wished them both well. When the call ended, I felt sad for the good years Vanessa and I had shared. I also felt certain about the life I was building now.
I told Emma the divorce was final when we spoke that evening.
“How are you?” she asked.
“Sad. Relieved. I’ll be okay.”
“You don’t have to give me the easy answer.”
“That’s the honest one.”
She told me she could visit the next weekend if I wanted company. I said yes, and I also told her I would make plans for the days before she arrived.
“Good,” she said. “I was going to tell you that.”
Our calls had become easier. We still had moments when one of us expected the other to guess. Then we stopped and asked.
In August, Emma’s firm offered her a permanent job. She called me from outside the office, laughing and crying at the same time.
“They want me to stay,” she said.
“Do you want to?”
“More than anything.”
“Then tell them yes.”
“I already did.”
I laughed.
She was coming home for dinner that weekend. I asked what she wanted to celebrate. She chose Rachel’s pasta and the cake she had pretended to enjoy the first Christmas after her mother died.
May you like
“This time I actually want two pieces,” she said.
I wrote it on my shopping list.
