Chapter 10
Walter’s notebook was smaller than Marcus expected.
Its cover was worn, and several pages had come loose. Inside were building measurements, reminders to call tenants, and sketches of repairs. On the last page, Walter had written a list of questions for the following year.
Marcus sat at my kitchen table turning the pages carefully.
“He wrote down everything,” he said.
“He said his memory was excellent. The notebook suggests otherwise.”
Marcus laughed. He stopped at a drawing of a staircase.
“I worked on this one with him,” he said. “He let me carry the tools.”
“You were proud of that.”
“I was. I thought he just needed help.”
“He liked having you beside him.”
Marcus closed the notebook and looked at me. “I wish I could tell him what I’m doing now.”
“I think he would want to hear every detail.”
We had agreed to meet for lunch before visiting the newest tenant in one of the buildings. Marcus had helped Ada work out the lease. The tenant was opening a small community bookshop, and she had invited us to see it before opening day.
On the way, Marcus told me he had called Renata the previous week. It was the first time they had spoken since the divorce.
“She asked how the businesses were going,” he said. “I told her I’m learning a lot.”
“How was the call?”
“Short. She apologized again. I told her I hoped she was taking care of herself.”
He looked out the window for a moment.
“I’m glad I don’t need to argue with her anymore.”
“So am I.”
At the bookshop, the owner walked us through shelves still waiting to be filled. She showed Marcus the reading corner he had helped make possible by approving a repair to the back wall.
“Your father came here once when this was a hardware store,” she told him. “He asked the owner what would make the space easier to use. You asked me the same thing.”
Marcus looked at me.
“I didn’t know that,” he said.
“She wouldn’t have either if you hadn’t asked,” I replied.
After the visit, we went back to my house. Marcus said he wanted to make dinner, though he had never learned Walter’s stew as well as he thought he had. I let him use the kitchen. He asked where I kept the carrots and cut them too thick again.
While it cooked, we went into the garden. The birdhouse had a new occupant. Marcus stood at a distance so he wouldn’t disturb it.
“I’m thinking about buying a place of my own,” he said.
“Near here?”
“Close enough for Sunday dinner.”
“I’d like that.”
“I want it to be somewhere I chose and can afford from the work I’m doing. Ada says I’m ready to take on another property next year, but I don’t want to hurry through the rest.”
“You have time.”
He took a breath. “It took me a while to believe that.”
We returned to the kitchen when the stew began to bubble over. Marcus lifted the lid and laughed at the mess. I handed him a cloth, and we cleaned it up together.
Over dinner, he asked whether I would show him the photographs from the years when Walter first started the business. I brought down a box from the closet. We spread the pictures across the table: Walter in a hard hat, Ada beside a newly painted storefront, Marcus as a boy holding the crooked birdhouse.
Marcus picked up the last photograph.
“I forgot how happy we looked that day.”
“You were happy.”
“We still have days like that.”
I looked at him across the table. “We do.”
He put the photograph beside Walter’s notebook. Then he reached for my hand.
“I’m sorry I made you leave the chapel,” he said. “I’m glad you came that day.”
“I am too.”
He held my hand a moment longer. Then he asked me to tell him how Walter had met Ada and chosen that first building.
I began at the beginning. Marcus listened, asked questions, and stayed long after the plates were cleared.
May you like
When he finally left, he promised to call on Sunday. I watched him walk down the path with Walter’s notebook tucked safely under his arm.
Inside, his chair was still pulled close to mine. I left it there.
