45. Zelda
ZELDA
The key sticks because I have turned it before pushing the door all the way in.
I know this lock. I used to open it with shopping on one arm and a book under my chin. Now I have Otto against my shoulder and a small bag of his things cutting into my wrist, and I am trying so hard to do it properly that I have forgotten the trick.
Jeremiah comes down the hall.
“Push first,” he says.
“I know.”
He stops with his hand halfway to the door. I push, turn, and get it open.
“There.”
He smiles. I step inside.
We have spent two weeks bringing things over and talking about what fits where.
The rental is still mine until the lease ends.
There are books left on the crooked shelf, cleaning things beneath the sink, and a key on my ring that I have no intention of handing back early.
Today I have brought the clothes I want for the week.
Today I am staying.
Otto lifts his head to inspect the hall. His crib is upstairs, assembled on an earlier visit. Jeremiah takes the bag from my wrist, then reaches for him.
“Come and inspect your room.”
I kiss Otto’s hair before handing him over. He immediately takes hold of his father’s collar. They go upstairs together while I bring in the box from the car.
It is heavier than I remembered. By the time I reach the dining room, I have it braced against my hip and am thinking about where I can put it down.
Then I see the end of the table.
There is no card. No gold tree. It is daylight, and somebody has left a roll of tape where my plate stood. I know all of that. My fingers still tighten on the cardboard until an edge bends beneath my thumb.
I hear him again, telling me what leaving would mean. I remember the ring catching on my knuckle. I had thought that if I could just get it off, I could get out of the room.
“Zelda?”
Jeremiah is in the hall with Otto.
“I need to put this down.”
He starts forward. I shake my head, then cross the last few feet and set it on the table myself. The sound is louder than I expected.
I press my hands flat on the lid.
He waits in the doorway. Otto makes a pleased noise at nothing either of us can see.
“I hate that I remember it before anything else,” I say.
Jeremiah looks at the place where I am standing.
“I’m sorry.”
I nod. There is no answer he can give that will make this a room where it did not happen.
I pull the tape loose.
The blue plates are wrapped in towels. I take out the first and set it beside the box. Then another. Eleven altogether, one with the chip I always turn away from a guest.
“I want these in the low cabinet,” I say.
“I cleared it yesterday.”
I crouch to open it. The empty shelf smells faintly of wood polish. I start putting the plates away, leaving the chipped one on top because I can use it.
By the time I stand, I can breathe properly again.
“Those chairs still hurt my back.”
Jeremiah looks around the table. “All of them?”
“The upright ones. I like the two by the window.”
“So do I.”
“We need to sit in anything new before we buy it.”
“For three hours?”
“I want to be thorough.”
He laughs. I let myself smile, then take Otto so he can carry the empty box out.
Hedy arrives with the last box of his books and coffee for all three of us. She looks at my face when she comes in. I shake my head before she can ask, and she hands me the cup without insisting.
Upstairs we argue about my desk.
Jeremiah thinks it belongs against the wall, where it would leave a clear path to the shelves. I want the window. Hedy sits on the bed with Otto and drinks her coffee while we move it twice.
“You’ll hit the corner every time you come in,” Jeremiah says.
“Only if I insist on walking in a straight line.”
“A habit you’ve had for years.”
I try the chair. From here I can see the tree at the edge of the garden. Its remaining leaves are yellow, and when I lean back I can see a strip of sky.
“I want to look out.”
He stands behind me, looking over my shoulder. Then he points to the bookcase.
“Turn that. You can keep the window and still get to the door.”
We turn it. It works. Hedy announces she would have suggested that ten minutes ago if either of us had stopped talking.
When she leaves, I walk her to the car. She puts her arms around me without asking how it went.
“Call me,” she says, still holding me.
“I will.”
I watch her drive away. Then I go back inside and close the door from this side.
Later, unpacking in our bedroom, I find the padded box with the glass star. It is where I left it in January. I lift the lid and touch one point without taking it out.
Jeremiah comes in carrying my sweaters. He looks at the box, then at me.
“Keep it somewhere we can find it,” I say. “For the tree.”
He sets it on the high shelf. I put the sweaters into my drawer.
The wall beside the wardrobe is a slightly different white. I see it when I stand up, and the smell comes back so suddenly that I almost turn toward the dresser.
“You painted it.”
“Yes.”
I run a finger along the drawer handle.
“I was wrong to throw the perfume.”
He puts the empty bag on the bed. “Yes.”
It would have been easier if he had excused it. I am glad he hasn’t.
“I wanted to break something. Then it broke, and I frightened myself.”
“It frightened me too.”
My face burns. “I’m sorry.”
He nods. We stand there with the open drawer between us.
“I won’t do that again,” I say. “I’ll tell you I’m furious. Or I’ll leave the room.”
“You can tell me.”
“Even here.”
“Especially here.”
I close the drawer. He picks up the bag, and we finish putting my clothes away. The patch remains visible when the light catches it.
By evening Otto is asleep in his room. I stand over him for a little longer than he needs, watching the blanket lift with his breathing.
I smile into the quiet room.
In our bedroom my nightshirt is on the bed. I put it on my pillow, then move it because Jeremiah will sit there to take off his shoes. The small certainty makes me stop with the cloth in my hands.
He will sit there. I will be here. I have wanted this enough to come through the door.
I lay the nightshirt down and go downstairs. Jeremiah is cutting bread at the counter. I put my arms around him from behind, and he sets the knife down before turning into me.
“Hello,” he says.
I laugh against his shirt. “Hello.”