Chapter 5: She Still Had Her Key
I heard the front door open at half past three.
I was at the kitchen table doing homework.
Grandma had stepped next door to return a dish to the neighbor.
She'd been gone four minutes.
Maybe five.
I knew it wasn't Dad.
He didn't finish work until six.
I knew it wasn't Grandma.
She would have called out my name.
Karen appeared in the kitchen doorway.
She was dressed neatly.
Hair done.
Coat buttoned.
She looked like she was going somewhere important, or coming back from it.
She looked completely calm.
That was the part that frightened me.
"Hi, sweetheart," she said.
I didn't answer.
She walked to the counter and set her handbag down like she still lived there.
Like the last three days hadn't happened.
"I just came to get a few of my things," she said.
"I'm not here to cause any trouble."
I watched her.
"Your dad and I are going to work things out," she said, opening a cabinet and taking down a small ceramic pot — something she'd brought from her old apartment.
"This has all been a big misunderstanding.
You know that, right?
Grandma Ruth doesn't like me.
She never has.
She's been putting ideas in your head since you were small."
"She wrote everything down," I said.
"The dates.
The photographs."
Karen set the ceramic pot on the counter.
She turned to look at me.
"You're seven years old," she said.
"You don't understand how adults work.
What looks like one thing is often something completely different." Her voice was still gentle.
Still calm.
"Your grandmother is a bitter old woman who couldn't let your father be happy.
And you, without meaning to, have been her little helper."
Something moved through me.
Not fear this time.
Something harder than fear.
"I called her," I said.
"She didn't make me.
I called her because you locked me outside in the cold."
"And I've apologized for that," Karen said.
"I lost my temper.
Adults lose their tempers.
It doesn't mean —"
The back door opened.
Grandma stepped into the kitchen with an empty casserole dish under one arm.
She saw Karen.
She set the dish down on the counter very slowly.
"How did you get in?" she said.
"I have a key," Karen said.
"This is still my home."
"It is not your home," Grandma said.
"And you were told not to come here."
"I was told nothing of the sort.
Daniel and I spoke last night.
We're —"
"Daniel spoke to a lawyer yesterday morning," Grandma said.
"I drove him."
Karen's composure slipped.
Just for a second.
A small crack across the surface of that careful calm.
"You're lying."
"His name is Gerald Marsh.
His office is on Clement Street.
You're welcome to call and confirm."
Karen picked up her handbag.
Her movements were still controlled, but the ease was gone from them.
They were controlled the way something is controlled when it is working hard not to break.
"This isn't over," she said.
"No," Grandma agreed.
"It isn't.
There will be a hearing.
The notebook will be submitted.
The photographs will be submitted.
The officers' report from Tuesday night will be submitted." She paused.
"I'd encourage you to speak to a lawyer as well."
Karen looked at me one last time.
"You did this," she said quietly.
"You and that phone."
She walked out.
The front door closed behind her.
Grandma stood very still for a moment.
Then she looked at me.
"Are you all right?"
"Yes," I said.
She nodded.
She picked the casserole dish back up and put it in the cabinet.
"Do your homework," she said.
"I'll start dinner."
I looked at the kitchen doorway where Karen had been standing.
Then I turned back to my worksheet and picked up my pencil.
But my hand was shaking.
And on the table, half-hidden under my math book, my mother's old phone was lit up with a notification.
I hadn't touched it.
I turned it over.
There was a voicemail.
May you like
From a number I didn't recognize.
The timestamp said it had been recorded two years ago.
