“I’m still deciding.”
Alex gave the first hint of a smile all day. Brief, almost invisible. Then he went down the hall. In the house next door, the yellow light in the window stayed on for a long time.
Saturday morning began with a smell. Alex woke in a strange room. Narrow bed, low ceiling, old dresser with a mirror. For a few seconds he lay there staring upward, not sure where he was. Then he remembered. Maple Hollow. Mrs. Parker’s house. Yesterday.
The smell was coming from the kitchen. Eggs frying. Bread. Something sweet too, maybe preserves. Mrs. Parker was already up, though the old wall clock in the hall said 6:45.
Alex washed up, got dressed, and came out for breakfast. They ate mostly in silence. Mrs. Parker didn’t believe in forcing conversation first thing in the morning. He remembered that too. After coffee—instant, because that was all she had, and he drank it without complaint—he put on his coat and stepped outside.
The morning was cold and clear. Frost silvered the grass by the fence. The sky was pale blue, almost white. The air smelled of wood smoke. Somebody in town had already started a fire. Alex stood on the porch with his hands in his pockets and looked at his mother’s house.
He went down into the yard, opened the car, pulled out a small suitcase and his laptop. Then he tried to start the engine. It coughed once and died. He tried again. Nothing. The battery, apparently, had finally given out. Overnight temperatures had dropped, and the old battery—one he should have replaced a while ago—had decided it was done.
Alex took out his phone. One weak bar of service, coming and going. He called the nearest auto shop. According to the map, the closest one was in the county seat, about twenty-five miles away. The mechanic listened and said, “Soonest I can get there is Sunday around noon.”
Alex agreed. He was stuck here for at least two more days.
Around nine, the door of the neighboring house opened and Lily came out into the yard. Red snowsuit, hat crooked, rabbit tucked under one arm. She looked around, saw Alex by the car, and headed straight for him with businesslike purpose.
“Did you sleep here?” she asked.
“At Mrs. Parker’s.”
Lily nodded as if that fully explained the situation.
“Is your car broken?”
“Battery.”
“Is that serious?”
“No. They’ll fix it.”
“Good.” She shifted from foot to foot. “Did you have breakfast?”
“I did.”
“Mom made oatmeal. She always makes too much oatmeal. Do you want some?”
“Thanks, but I already ate.”
Lily accepted this philosophically and moved on to the car. She walked around it, touched the side mirror, peered through the window.
“Big,” she said. “We used to have a car too. Dad’s. We drove to the beach in it.” She paused. “That was a long time ago.”
Alex didn’t answer. He looked at the child and thought that she was maybe four years old, tops. Yet she said “that was a long time ago” with the tone of someone who had already lived through things.
Kate appeared in the doorway.
“Lily, I told you not to go anywhere without asking.”
“I didn’t go anywhere. I’m in the yard.”
“Same principle.”
Kate pulled on a jacket and stepped onto the porch. Looked at Alex.
“Good morning.”
“Morning,” he said. “The battery’s dead. Mechanic’s coming Sunday. So I’m here another day or two.”
He said it plainly, without apology or explanation, just as a fact.
Kate nodded.
“Understood.” She paused a second. “It’s your house. If you want to move back in, Lily and I can stay with Mrs. Parker.”
“No need.”
It came out sharper than he intended. Kate nodded again and took Lily back inside for breakfast.
The day passed in a strange, awkward kind of shared existence. Alex went through the house carefully, notebook in hand, the way he did on job sites. He inspected the foundation, the roof, the window frames, the floors. Took notes. It was a defense mechanism: when you don’t know what to do with something complicated, deal with the part you understand. The roof needed partial repair. One kitchen window had dried out and let in drafts. A floorboard in the hall had sunk. The garden fence had collapsed in two places. Overall, the house was holding up. Solid old timber construction. His father had built it, after all. There was irony in that…
