Harold needed more independence.
Not less help.
Different help.
He needed occupational therapy for dressing.
A regular walking program.
More opportunities to complete tasks without Nancy stepping in immediately.
And Nancy needed respite care.
She rejected that first.
“I don't need a babysitter.”
“It isn't for Harold.”
Elena looked at her.
“It’s for you.”
Nancy almost became defensive.
Then stopped.
“What would I even do?”
“That’s not my department.”
Harold answered:
“Go somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I don't care.”
“You used to have friends.”
“I still have friends.”
“When did you last have lunch with one?”
Nancy could not remember.
That embarrassed her.
Before Harold’s stroke, Nancy attended book club.
Volunteered at the library.
Met two former teachers every Thursday for lunch.
Afterward, she gradually quit everything.
She told herself Harold needed her.
Sometimes he did.
Sometimes she needed to be needed.
That distinction was harder.
Nancy agreed to one afternoon a week.
A home-care aide stayed with Harold.
The first Thursday, Nancy drove to a shopping center and sat in the car for thirty minutes because she had no idea what to do with herself.
Then she called an old friend.
They had lunch.
When Nancy returned, Harold was fine.
Not merely alive.
Fine.
The house had survived three hours without her supervision.
That felt both wonderful and insulting.
Eventually mostly wonderful.
Chapter 14: Winter
By December, the trees at Hawthorne Ridge were bare.
The leaf blower appeared less often.
Not because Nancy won.
Because there were fewer leaves.
Elena still used it occasionally.
The first time after mediation, Nancy heard the motor start.
Her body reacted instantly.
Jaw tight.
Shoulders raised.
Heart faster.
She looked at the clock.
4:16.
She almost went to the window.
Then stopped herself.
Ten minutes later, the blower shut off.
Nancy looked at the clock.
4:25.
Nine minutes.
That was all.
She had once allowed nine minutes of sound to occupy an entire evening.
Now she made tea.
Harold sat nearby doing leg exercises Elena assigned.
“You hear that?”
Nancy asked.
“Yes.”
“Does it bother you?”
“No.”
“It’s loud.”
“Yes.”
Nancy waited.
Harold smiled.
“You want me to agree with something else?”
“No.”
She sat.
Outside, the last leaves moved across Elena’s patio.
Inside, Nancy let the sound exist without turning it into a message.
That was harder than she expected.
Also possible.
Chapter 15: The Board Election
Richard Coleman retired from the HOA board the following spring.
Immediately, several residents asked Nancy whether she planned to run.
Before the incident, she would have said yes.
She loved rules.
Procedure.
Meetings.
The idea that every problem could be solved through enforcement.
Now she surprised herself.
“No.”
One neighbor looked shocked.
“You’d be good at it.”
Nancy smiled.