Chapter 5: What She Was Running From
She didn't speak for a long time.
I didn't rush her.
I refilled my own cup and sat across from her and let the silence do its work.
Finally she said, "I'm not a bad person."
"I haven't decided what you are yet," I said.
"Tell me."
She looked up.
Something in my directness seemed to steady her.
"I moved here four months ago," she said.
"From Portland.
I left — I left a situation there that was very bad.
I didn't have time to plan.
I took what I could carry and I drove until I ran out of reasons to keep going and this was where I stopped."
"What kind of situation?"
She looked at her mug.
"My ex.
He was — it was @buse.
Not always the kind people recognize right away.
But it got worse.
And then one night it got bad enough that I understood I had to leave that night or I might not get another chance."
I said nothing.
I let her continue.
"I had almost no money.
I had my car and two bags.
A friend helped me with the deposit here.
I got a job at the diner on Clement Street three weeks in." She paused.
"I'm not making excuses for what I did to your yard.
I know that was wrong.
I know it."
"Then why did you do it?"
She was quiet for a moment.
"Because you reminded me of his mother."
I set my cup down.
"She used to come over and stand in the yard and make comments about everything," Madison said.
"The curtains.
The grass.
The way I hung the laundry.
She never raised her voice.
She just — watched.
And judged.
And smiled." She looked at me.
"When you knocked on my door that first time, I just — I reacted.
I know it doesn't make sense."
"It makes a kind of sense," I said.
"It isn't a justification.
But it makes sense."
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand.
"I'm going to lose the apartment, aren't I?"
"Not necessarily," I said.
"That depends on what you do now."
"What can I do?
You've already sent everything to the landlord."
"I sent the footage," I said.
"I haven't sent a formal complaint requesting action.
There's a difference."
She looked up slowly.
"I am 72 years old," I said.
"I have been in this house for forty-one years.
I am not interested in destroying a young woman's life over garbage bags.
What I am interested in is my garden, my pear tree, and my right to live in my own home without being treated like an inconvenience."
"I understand," she said quietly.
"Do you?"
"Yes."
May you like
I folded my hands on the table.
"Then here is what I think should happen next."
