“That isn’t the same thing.”
I turned.
“What makes you feel useful?”
The question made her pause.
Before the accident, usefulness had been easy for Laurel to measure.
Deadlines met.
Problems solved.
People depending on her to keep projects from falling apart.
Now she worked from home a few hours a day, but her supervisor had reduced her responsibilities until she could return full-time.
“I know they’re helping,” she said. “But sometimes it feels like my life is happening in another room.”
Sophie was drawing at the table.
She looked up.
“You helped me with fractions.”
Laurel blinked.
“What?”
“Last week.”
“That does not count as a career.”
“It counts to me.”
Laurel looked away for a second.
I saw her eyes shine.
I set down the screwdriver.
“Choose something that belongs to this room.”
She looked around the kitchen.
“Such as?”
“Dinner.”
“That is your professional solution?”
“I’m hungry.”
Sophie raised her hand.
“Me too.”
Laurel threw a dish towel at me.
The pasta was slightly overcooked.
We ate every bite.
Two weeks later, Laurel’s parents arrived from Arizona.
Her father, Samuel, moved carefully and tired more quickly than he wanted anyone to notice.
Her mother, Ruth, hugged Laurel in the apartment doorway and held on until both began crying.
I stayed near the kitchen, unsure whether I belonged in the moment.
Sophie stood beside me holding the dessert box.
Ruth noticed us.
“You must be Graham.”
Before I could answer, she crossed the room and hugged me.
Laurel wiped her face.
“Mom, he has a healing shoulder.”
Ruth released me immediately.
“Sorry.”
“I’m fine.”
Laurel and Ruth said together, “That phrase should be illegal.”
Samuel laughed.
Then Ruth looked at Sophie.
“And you must be the famous Sophie.”
Sophie glanced at me.
“Famous?”
“Laurel talks about you.”
That pleased her more than she would admit.
During dinner, Samuel asked about my company, the buildings we restored, and whether original windows were really worth saving.
“They usually are.”
“What about when the wood is rotten?”
“You replace only what cannot be repaired.”
Samuel nodded thoughtfully.
“That sounds like a useful rule for more than windows.”
Across the table, Laurel looked at me.
Sophie, who had been listening while eating garlic bread, asked, “Does that work with families too?”
Every adult at the table became quiet.
Samuel answered first.
“I think it might.”
The following afternoon, we all went to Bennett’s.