Chapter 10
Sienna chose an apartment with a yellow front door.
The paint was chipped near the handle. The kitchen was small. The windows faced a courtyard where someone had planted tomatoes in old wooden boxes.
“It gets sun until noon,” she told me. “That’s enough for the herbs.”
She had asked me to come because I knew how to spot a leaky faucet. Richard came too and checked the water, the windows, and the lock while Sienna asked the landlord questions from her notebook.
At the end of the visit, she looked at Audrey.
“What do you think?”
Audrey smiled.
“I think you’ve done your homework. What do you think?”
Sienna turned slowly in the empty living room.
“I think I could be happy here.”
She signed the lease herself.
On moving day, Julian carried the heavy boxes. Richard fixed a loose shelf. Evelyn lined the kitchen drawers, though Sienna told her twice she could stop. Audrey arranged the cups, then rearranged them when Sienna said she wanted the blue ones close to the sink.
I brought a loaf of sweet bread from the bakery.
“I thought you might need breakfast tomorrow,” I said.
Sienna looked at the loaf, then at me.
“You always save some for Audrey.”
“I bought enough for both of you.”
She hugged me so suddenly that I nearly dropped the bag.
By evening, the boxes were empty. Sienna placed the photograph of Marianne on a shelf beside a pot of basil. Audrey stood next to her, shoulder against shoulder.
“She would have liked the yellow door,” Evelyn said.
“Mom liked yellow,” Sienna answered. “I remembered.”
We ate takeout on the floor because the dining table would not arrive until Tuesday. Sienna gave everyone a plate and chose where we sat. When Julian reached for the last spring roll, she told him it was hers. He handed it over, laughing.
I watched her fill that little room with her own voice.
A few weeks later, Audrey and Julian invited us back to our house for dinner. They wanted to make one more memory there before Richard took down the wedding lights for the season.
I had avoided looking at those lights after the wedding night. For months, they had reminded me of Audrey’s scream and Julian’s frightened face. Richard had offered to take them down several times. Each time, I had asked him to wait.
That evening, we carried dishes into the backyard beneath their warm glow. Audrey wore a simple blue dress. Julian moved beside her, asking what she needed for the table and listening when she answered.
They had continued seeing their counselor. Audrey had told me that some talks were hard. She had also told me she felt heard.
After dinner, Julian stood and raised his glass.
“I want to say something,” he began.
Audrey looked at him, surprised.
“On our wedding night, I was afraid for Sienna. I let that fear decide what Audrey must have done. I frightened the person I had promised to stand beside.”
He turned to her.
“I’m sorry. I’m grateful you told me what I needed to change. I’ll keep doing the work.”
Audrey set down her glass. She reached for his hand.
“I kept my fear to myself too,” she said. “I thought telling you about Dad would cost me you. I want us to tell each other the hard things, even when our voices shake.”
Julian nodded. He sat, and they stayed hand in hand.
I saw no need to turn their words into a speech of my own. Richard poured more lemonade. Sienna asked whether anybody wanted cake. The evening went on around the promise they had made.
Later, she came to stand beside me while Richard began taking down the lights from the far fence.
“I used to think being safe meant Audrey had to stay close enough to see me,” she said.
“What does it mean to you now?”
She considered it.
“I can go home, lock my yellow door, and know where my keys are. I can ask for help. I can tell someone no.” She looked toward Audrey. “And she can have her own life without being afraid for me every minute.”
I put an arm around her. She leaned into me, then straightened when Evelyn called her over to admire a flowering vine.
Audrey came to my side.
“She told you about the door?” she asked.
“She did.”
Audrey watched her sister cross the yard. There were tears in her eyes, but she was smiling.
“I worried I’d never hear her sound so sure of herself.”
“You helped her get here.”
“So did all of you.”
Richard reached the last strand of lights. Julian steadied the ladder while he unhooked it. Sienna and Evelyn argued cheerfully about where to plant the vine. Audrey called to Julian to be careful, and he looked over with a smile.
The yard grew a little darker when Richard switched the lights off. No one hurried inside.
We stayed together beneath the evening sky, talking about Sienna’s new apartment, the plants on her windowsill, and Sunday dinner.
Then Sienna slipped her hand into Audrey’s.
“I’ll bring the basil next week,” she said. “It’s growing faster than I can use it.”
Audrey squeezed her fingers.
“We’ll make something with it.”
I stood beside them as Richard brought the ladder down. Audrey rested her head briefly against my shoulder. Across the yard, Sienna was already telling Julian how much water his basil needed.
May you like
I had once called Audrey my daughter because I hoped she felt welcome in our family.
That night, with her hand warm in mine and Sienna laughing a few steps away, I knew she did.
