"Thank you. You don't have to thank me. I know I don't have to, she said. I want to. His house was exactly what she expected, and somehow nothing like it.
Small, a two-bedroom on a quiet street, the kind of house that has clearly been lived in and loved, not staged. There was a drawing on the refrigerator, a horse wearing a crown, signed Lily, age 8, in careful letters. There were mismatched mugs on an open shelf and a pair of small sneakers by the door and a stack of library books on the coffee table with bookmark shaped like a rocket ship sticking out of the top one. Mrs. Patterson, who was in fact 71 and who was in fact awake because she had fallen asleep watching television, and the sound of the truck woke her, came out of the gastro in a robe and reading glasses and looked at Clare with open and unambiguous curiosity.
This is my coworker, Clare. Marcus said she's going to use the guest room tonight. The guest room has clean towels. Mrs. Patterson said to Clare.
Then she looked at Marcus. Lily woke up at 10 asking for water. I told her you'd be home soon. I'll check on her. Mrs.
Patterson gathered her things. At the door, she turned back to Clare. He keeps good orange juice in the fridge, she said. Like this was the most relevant information she could offer. None of that watered down stuff. the real kind.
Then she left. Clare stood in the middle of Marcus' living room and looked around at the evidence of a life a whole complicated quietly loving life being built one ordinary day at a time. Guest rooms down the hall, Marcus said. Left door. Bathroom's next to it.
Okay, I'm going to check on Lily. I'll be 2 minutes. Go, she said. I'm fine. He disappeared down the hallway and Clare stood there in the quiet kitchen of a stranger who wasn't quite a stranger and tried to remember the last time she had felt something close to safe.
It had been a while, a long while. She heard Marcus's voice from down the hall, low, soft, warm, and away it never was at work. And she heard a small, sleepy voice respond, and she heard him say something that made the small voice giggle quietly, and then the sound of a door closing gently. He came back 2 minutes later. Exactly.
She asleep. Clare asked. Out like a light? He said. She wanted to know if I ate my dinner.
I told her yes. Did you? No. I thought so. He pulled the pasta container from the counter and put it in the microwave.