Opal stood in the doorway for a long moment.
She looked at the walls, the bare floor, and the toolbox Nate had left near the stairs.
Then she stepped inside.
"Mind if I take my time?"
"Of course not," I said.
Nate came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on an old towel.
He smiled when he saw his grandmother.
"Good to see you, Grandma."
She gave him a hug.
Then she looked past him into the next room.
"You've been busy."
"We're trying."
She walked slowly through the living room, stopping near the window.
The sunlight showed every patch of dust we had missed.
I felt embarrassed by the mess.
Opal didn't seem bothered.
She ran a finger along the edge of the window frame and examined the old wood.
"Are you keeping this?"
"If we can repair it," Nate said.
"Good. Old wood can be worth saving."
She moved toward the kitchen.
I followed her, explaining what we had repaired and what still needed work.
She listened without interrupting.
When I mentioned how much the wiring had cost, she nodded.
When I told her about the roof, she asked whether we had received an estimate.
She didn't offer advice until she understood the problem.
That reminded me of my own grandmother, who had been the same way.
We reached the kitchen window.
Opal looked out at the yard.
"What do you want this place to become?"
I hadn't expected the question.
"A home," I answered.
She turned toward me.
"Yes, but what kind of home?"
I thought about the little things Nate and I had discussed.
A table where we could eat without balancing plates on our knees.
A kitchen where I could open the window in spring.
A spare room where relatives could stay without us having to move furniture around.
"Somewhere we can settle," I said. "Somewhere we don't have to leave because a landlord changes his mind."
Opal nodded.
She looked toward Nate.
"And you?"
"Somewhere I can work on my own equipment without worrying about the neighbors."
She smiled.
"That sounds like the two of you."
We showed her the smallest bedroom.
The wallpaper was half removed, leaving uneven patches along the walls.
Opal stood in the middle of the room and looked up at the ceiling.
"Will you use this for a bedroom?"
"Probably," I said.
"Then don't spend money decorating it before you've finished the important repairs."
Nate laughed.
"That's what I've been telling her."
I gave him a look.
Opal laughed with him.
For the first time that morning, the house felt less like a burden and more like a place where people could gather.
We returned to the living room and sat on two folding chairs.
I offered her coffee from the thermos I had brought.
She accepted it and held the cup between both hands.
For a while, we talked about ordinary things.
She asked whether I was still working at the hospital.
I told her about the insurance department and the long weekends at the truck stop.
She frowned when I mentioned the extra shifts.
"You must be exhausted."
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes?"
I smiled.
"Most of the time."
She didn't laugh.
"Don't make a habit of treating exhaustion like a badge of honor."
I looked down at my coffee.
It was the kind of thing I needed to hear, though I wasn't ready to admit it.
Nate told her about the repair work he had taken on.
He mentioned the farmers who called him when their equipment broke down.
He didn't mention the fishing boat.
He didn't need to.
Opal had known about that boat for years.
"That was a hard thing to give up," she said.
Nate looked at her.
"How did you know?"
"Because I have eyes."
He shook his head, smiling.
Opal took another sip of coffee.
Then she set the cup on the floor beside her chair.
"I want to ask you something, and I'd like an honest answer."
Nate straightened.
"All right."
"Did you buy this house because you wanted it, or because you wanted to prove something to your parents?"
The question landed harder than I expected.
I looked at Nate.
He didn't answer immediately.
Outside, a truck passed along the road.
Its engine faded into the distance.
Finally, Nate spoke.
"I wanted a house before that Easter dinner."
Opal waited.
"The dinner didn't change what I wanted," he continued. "It just made me more determined to stop waiting for somebody else to decide what we could have."
She studied him.
"Those are two different things."
"I know."
"And which one is making the decisions now?"
Nate glanced around the room.
"This one."
He pointed toward the house.
"Every decision we make here is about whether we can afford it, whether it makes sense, and whether it gets us closer to living here."
Opal nodded slowly.
I felt proud of him.
Not because his answer was perfect, but because he had told the truth.
He was still hurt.
So was I.
But we had begun building something that mattered more than the hurt.
Opal stood and asked to see the back of the property.
Nate helped her outside.
The yard was uneven, and several old branches lay near the fence.
She looked toward the far corner, where the ground sloped slightly.
"Have you checked the drainage?"
"We're planning to," Nate said.
"Do that before you put money into landscaping."
I laughed.
"You sound like him."
She glanced at me.
"Somebody has to keep him sensible."
Nate pretended to be offended.
We walked her back to the car.
Before she got in, she turned to me.
"I'm glad you showed me this place."
I waited, expecting her to say more.
She didn't.
Instead, she asked whether I could drive her home.
I helped her into the passenger seat and fastened her seat belt.
As we pulled away, I glanced at her.
She was looking out the window, quiet and thoughtful.
I wanted to ask why she had been so interested in our purchase.
I wanted to ask why she had told me not to mention the visit to Ron.
But she had come to see our house, and I didn't want to turn the drive into an interrogation.
I dropped her off outside her home.
She thanked me and went inside.
On the way back to the Miller property, I called Nate.
He answered after the second ring.
"Everything all right?"
"Yes. She's home."
"Did she say anything?"
"Not really."
There was a pause.
Then I added, "She asked whether we bought the house to prove something to your parents."
Nate was quiet for a moment.
"What did you tell her?"
"Nothing. You answered that yourself."
He let out a breath.
"Good."
That evening, I sat at our kitchen table and opened the notebook where I kept our expenses.
I entered the cost of the materials we had bought that week.
Then I looked at the bluebird card tucked inside the drawer.
I hadn't read it in months.
I took it out and placed it beside the notebook.
The words still bothered me.
But they no longer felt like instructions about how we were supposed to live.
We had made our own decisions.
We had paid for our own mistakes.
And we had bought a house because we wanted somewhere to belong.
I put the card away again.
Then I wrote down the next repair we needed to finish.
Click here to continue reading: PART 6: A Small Family Gathering Made Me Realize That Keeping Our Plans Private Had Protected Our Savings but Not Our Feelings
Everyone at the Easter Table Received an Envelope, but Only One Couple Was Told They Needed Nothing
Part 5 of 20
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