By “others,” she meant Susan, even though Susan was the one who visited and helped while Karen and Kevin were busy “saving for a house” and complaining about how stressful life was.
The move was preceded by months of pressure disguised as concern: “Mom, the stairs are getting hard for you. You need professional care. We’re all exhausted. It’s not fair that it’s all on us.” Eleanor left without a fight, her back straight, with the quiet resolve that defined her. She knew she couldn’t stand guard forever, but she was prepared for the fact that her departure would unleash the family’s worst instincts.
And now, two and a half months later, Susan was driving Lily across town for her weekend practice. The girl was tapping rhythms on her knees, humming the melody from “The Swan” that she’d been learning.
“Mom, will Grandma Ellie be there?” “No, sweetie, she’s at her new place, remember?” “Maybe she came back? She said she missed her room. Our room.” Susan said nothing, not knowing what to say.
Even before they pulled into the driveway, she sensed something was wrong. The smell of construction—fresh paint, sawdust, and a sharp chemical odor—wafted through the car’s closed windows, signaling a major expense undertaken without Eleanor’s knowledge.
Inside, plastic sheeting covered the furniture in the hall, cardboard boxes were stacked against the wall, and yellow caution tape was stretched across doorways—a polite way of saying “keep out.” Lily tiptoed, as if in a museum, instinctively trying not to be in the way.
Through the back window, she could see the yard. The lawn was gone, replaced by a massive, excavated rectangle framed with wooden forms and rebar. Stacks of paving stones sat nearby.
A full-sized concrete swimming pool was under construction, with the frame of a future gazebo next to it. “Mom, is that for us?” Lily’s voice was filled with so much hope that, in that moment, Susan felt a calm, clear, crystalline hatred for her entire family.
“No, sweetie. Let’s go to the music room.” The humidifier was running, the music stand was in its place, and the shelves were lined with old, yellowed sheet music. Everything was as it should be, except for one thing. The corner where the cello case always stood was empty. Not moved, not rearranged. Just empty.
Lily froze in the doorway, then slowly walked to the spot. She peered behind the armchair, checked the shelf, then got on her knees and looked under the table, as if the instrument might have simply fallen and rolled away unnoticed. “Mom…” She turned, her eyes shining, but she held herself in check. Not a single tear, not a single sob. “Did Grandma Ellie change her mind? Did she take it back?”…
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