Chapter 6
CLAIRE
In my second week out of the hospital, Mia went with me to see an apartment near the school. When the elevator opened, she held the door for me, then took the cup of water from my hand.
“All you’re doing today is looking,” she said. “And don’t strain yourself doing that either.”
“If the window’s not good enough, can I glare at it?”
“Yes. Just don’t wrestle it.”
Laughing, I followed her through the bedrooms and stopped at the living room window. Beyond the trees, a woman waited while her dog sniffed a flower.
“Do you like the light?” Mia asked.
I nodded. I’d expected to care most about the school run, but already I was choosing where to put a chair. I could sit and read, or just watch that dog.
“Are you thinking of giving Nora the bigger room?” Mia asked.
“She has so much stuff.”
“It’ll fit in the smaller one too. Besides, you stood at the window in the big room for two minutes.”
I felt a little embarrassed. “You noticed?”
“You even checked the color of the curtains.”
I got up to look again. The larger bedroom would get light early.
I liked waking up without having to turn on a lamp right away.
Nora’s smaller room faced a quiet courtyard, and there was space for her bookcase beside the bed.
Both rooms were lovely. I didn’t need to begin by giving away the one I liked.
“Then this one’s mine,” I said.
Mia didn’t comment. She simply nodded, as if I’d been free to choose that all along.
In the kitchen, I found the cup rack within easy reach. Ethan used to put my cups too high, then charge a kiss as his handling fee when I called for help.
“What is it?” Mia asked as I closed the cupboard.
“Nothing. This will do fine.”
I still missed that ridiculous joke when I asked the landlord about moving in.
The next day, close to noon, Mia put photos of two chairs side by side on the computer. The apartment’s larger pieces of furniture were usable. All that was missing was the chair I wanted by the window. I was still trying to decide when Evelyn called.
She asked about my shoulder first. When I said it was better, she brought up Sunday’s family dinner.
“The same people as last time. You remember what those two don’t eat. I’d like the restaurant to prepare ahead of time so we’re not rushing around on the day.”
“I’ll find the list and send it to the restaurant?—”
I stopped.
The two chairs were still side by side on the computer. Mia didn’t hurry me. She just took her hand off the trackpad.
On the phone, Evelyn asked, “What’s wrong?”
“Please speak to Ethan directly this time.”
“How would he remember any of that?”
“Tell him, and he can ask. He has the previous correspondence too.”
She was quiet for a moment. “It’s only a phone call, Claire.”
I could hear her displeasure. I could almost see her setting her teacup on its saucer. Whenever she paused like that in the past, I would quickly take on whatever was left to do, so we could end the conversation pleasantly.
“I have things to do here,” I said. “Please contact him.”
After we hung up, I set down my phone very gently, as if she could still hear me.
“She’s never been able to stop worrying about the meal arrangements,” I told Mia. “All I had to do was forward the list.”
“Mm.”
“Now she’ll think I’m deliberately refusing to do even that little thing for her.”
Mia glanced at me. “Blue or cream?”
I was taken aback for a moment.
She pointed to the computer. “Your chair. Weren’t you worried about spilling coffee on the cream one?”
I looked back at the screen. Both were comfortable. The blue one had a slightly higher back, just right for supporting my head. I enlarged the picture again, my finger pausing on the trackpad.
“Blue.”
“Blue it is.” Mia closed the other picture and asked what I wanted for lunch.
I was still a little anxious, but slowly I remembered I hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Evelyn’s displeasure hadn’t gone away. I could still choose the chair by my window.
That evening, Ethan messaged to ask whether going out had tired me and how my shoulder was healing. His next message came a few minutes later. “I want to see you. When you’re ready, tell me.”
Propped against the headboard, I read the second message again.
Lately we’d talked mostly about Nora. Sometimes, seeing him wait beside the car, I wanted to ask how his day had been.
I sent an update on my recovery, then typed, “I miss you too.”
I pictured him on the edge of the bed, turning down the lamp. I wanted to tell him how frightened I was of choosing a home and finding work. But if he held me tonight, I might turn missing him into saying yes.
I deleted the unsent words.
The next morning, I confirmed I would take the apartment and paid with money I could spend as I chose. A little later, I found an old colleague’s contact details in my folder and called the library where I’d worked before I married.
While I waited, I read the introduction I’d written and added back “if it’s convenient.”
When the call connected, I’d barely given my name before she greeted me by name.
“Of course I remember you. Are you back in town?”
“I came back three years ago.” I pinched the corner of the paper. “I hadn’t gotten in touch. I wanted to ask if there are any opportunities in reader services at the moment.”
She told me they would be recruiting for a role and could send the information.
I should get my work records together in the meantime.
I explained that my shoulder was still recovering and I would need to start with hours I could physically manage.
She asked me to set out the details, then asked whether I could still draw on my experience organizing book events.
“I have all the records,” I said, more quickly now. “I just got them back.”
She mentioned a reader who could never remember the title of a book, only that there had been a door on the cover. I remembered at once. We’d searched the entire fiction section, and in the end, the book we found was about gardening.
“There were roses behind the door,” I said.
We laughed together. I promised to send my work history, though I’d barely used the introduction I’d prepared.
Afterward, I smoothed the paper I’d crumpled in my hand. I didn’t have a job yet, but someone remembered what I could do. I wrote her instructions on the back.
When Mia came in, I looked up. “They’re going to send me the information about the job.”
“Then shall we have something good for lunch?”
“We said that yesterday too.”
“Yesterday had its own reasons.”
I looked down and smiled. At last, I didn’t have to wipe the smile off my face right away.
In the fourth week, movers brought my boxes over and the caregiver helped put things away. After school, Nora inspected her room, chose a place for her lamp, and asked about the route to school.
“The same gate,” I said. “We’ll come from the other direction.”
She described a path beside the playground that avoided the big puddle. I asked her to show me next time.
“Then don’t wear your white shoes.”
“Didn’t you say there weren’t any puddles?”
“No big ones.”
I laughed and watched her arrange her books, already looking forward to exploring that path together once my shoulder was better.
With the new address in hand, I called Ethan. He answered quickly. When I told him I’d moved in, he asked whether I still needed anything.
“I have everything for now. I’ll send you the address. Come here to pick up Nora from now on.”
He said okay. I heard papers rustling, then the sound stopped.
“How long did you rent it for?”
I told him, then said, “I got in touch with my old library. I’m going to apply for a reader services role.”
“What about your shoulder?”
“I’ll wait until I’m physically ready and start with hours I can manage. I’ve already told them.”
“Okay.” He paused. “The timing overseas hasn’t been?—”
“Ethan, I’m staying in this city.”
I looked at the open door of Nora’s room. Inside, she was noisily running her backpack zipper back and forth.
“I’m not part of the move abroad. You don’t need to look at homes for me over there anymore or arrange any viewings.”
He was silent for a few seconds. “You’ve made up your mind.”
“I have.”
My voice was steadier than when we’d last talked about divorce, but I was still sad. I wanted him to ask about the library. I wanted him to know how happy I’d just been. But he only said quietly that he understood and confirmed when he would pick up our daughter.
After the call, I sat at the empty table for a little while, until Mia messaged to ask whether the chair had arrived.
The blue chair stood by the window. Someone had already opened the box of books for me and set it where I wouldn’t have to bend.
I chose two slim books, carried them over with my uninjured hand, and put my first stack on the little table by the window.
Sunlight fell across their covers. I pushed them into the shade, took a photo, and sent it to Mia first.
This time, I didn’t have to wait for Ethan to decide when we would move away.