Then he heard her voice change. Not the words he couldn't make out words through the wall, but the tone, the quality of it. Something tightening, contracting the way a person sounds when they are working very hard to keep their voice steady and not quite succeeding. He kept his hands busy, kept his eyes on the trim, told himself it was not his business. She came back outside 7 minutes later.
She sat down in the chair she'd been in before, picked up her legal pad, set it down without writing anything, and stared at the fence with an expression Marcus recognized from the inside out. It was the expression of someone who has just received bad news and has not yet decided what to do with it. He waited. The bank, she said finally. He stopped working.
They're moving up the timeline on the mortgage review. She said it quietly, each word careful and separate, like she was translating something from a language she had only recently been forced to learn. I'm 4 months behind. They've been flexible because of She stopped, started again because I've always been reliable before, 8 years. Never missed a payment until this year.
Her jaw tightened. They said they want to see a payment plan by the end of the month or they're initiating foreclosure proceedings. Marcus set down the trim piece in his hand. Olivia, I'm not telling you so you'll. She stopped herself, started again with a breath.
I'm telling you because you were sitting right there and I just needed to say it out loud to someone. She looked at him. Her eyes were dry, but her hands on the legal pad were pressed flat in the way of someone bracing. 4 months. That's how fast everything can change.
He thought about what she'd said earlier. I spent my whole life proving I don't need anyone. Heard the echo of it now in the careful way she was holding herself together. How bad is it? He asked.
She told him the number. He didn't flinch. He did the math in his head. It was significant. It was not impossible.
I have options, he said carefully. Her eyes sharpened. Marcus, don't. I'm not. You just told me two weekends ago that you have a cushion.
I am not touching your cushion. I am not becoming someone's charity case. I am not. I didn't say charity, he said. His voice was steady.