After that night, Gaylene and I began talking more often.
It happened naturally.
At first, we exchanged a few phone calls.
Then one of us suggested meeting for coffee.
We found a bakery halfway between York and Seward.
It was convenient for both of us.
We started meeting there every Tuesday.
Nothing complicated.
Just coffee, something small to eat, and conversation.
Gaylene turned out to be much funnier than I had expected.
She had a way of saying things that made me laugh when I was trying to stay serious.
She also had very little patience for people who treated others unfairly.
Especially when those people happened to be family.
She started referring to Seth as the landlord.
The first time she said it, I nearly spilled my coffee.
I laughed.
She laughed harder.
After that, the name stuck.
It became our private joke.
I never told Seth about it.
There was no reason to.
I didn't want to turn our conversations into another family argument.
And I didn't want to put Gaylene in an uncomfortable position with Shawna.
She had her own relationship with her daughter.
I understood that.
One Tuesday, she asked whether my house was nearly ready.
I told her the builder was getting close.
The kitchen was finished.
The bedrooms were nearly complete.
There were still a few things to take care of, but I could finally see the end.
I was excited.
I wanted my own place.
I wanted my own routine.
I wanted to wake up without wondering whether I was taking up too much space in somebody else's home.
In March, I finally moved.
The house in Seward was ready.
I packed my belongings and carefully wrapped my sewing machine.
There wasn't much to move compared with what I had owned at the farm.
But everything I brought had a place.
My clothes went into the bedroom closet.
My dishes went into the kitchen cabinets.
My sewing things went into the room where I planned to work.
And I finally had my porch.
The porch I had chosen.
I remember standing there after the movers left.
The afternoon was quiet.
I could hear a little traffic in the distance.
There was sunlight on the steps.
I put my hand on the railing and smiled.
It was mine.
My house.
My keys.
My decisions.
Nobody was waiting to leave a receipt on my dresser.
Nobody was counting how much space I occupied.
I was grateful in a way I couldn't quite describe.
Before leaving Seth's house, I made sure the guest bedroom was tidy.
I didn't want to leave a mess behind.
I collected my remaining things.
I checked the drawers.
I looked beneath the bed.
Then I noticed the last receipt.
It was still sitting where Seth had placed it.
I had paid that month's rent.
There was nothing outstanding.
I picked it up and placed it with the others.
Then I left.
I didn't confront him.
I didn't ask why Gaylene had been allowed to stay for free.
I didn't demand an explanation for the difference in treatment.
I simply went home.
Looking back, I can admit that silence wasn't always strength.
Sometimes I stayed quiet because I was afraid of what might happen if I spoke.
I was afraid of upsetting my son.
I was afraid he might become distant.
And, if I was honest, I was afraid of losing easy access to my grandchildren.
I loved those children.
I didn't want an argument over money to become something that stood between us.
So I kept my feelings to myself.
For months, life settled into a comfortable rhythm.
I learned the sounds of my new house.
I figured out where the afternoon sunlight reached the kitchen.
I arranged my sewing supplies.
I put photographs on the shelves.
I had my little television in the living room.
At seven, I watched Wheel of Fortune.
It was an ordinary routine.
But ordinary was exactly what I wanted.
I continued meeting Gaylene on Tuesdays.
Sometimes we talked about our children.
Sometimes we talked about the weather.
Sometimes we laughed about things that had nothing to do with family.
She never pressured me to confront Seth.
She knew that decision belonged to me.
And I didn't spend every day thinking about what had happened.
That was the strange part.
The hurt slowly became something I could put away.
Not forgotten.
Just quieter.
I had my own house.
I had my independence.
I had the peace I had wanted when I sold the farm.
Then eight months passed.
Eight months without any reason to think about that guest bedroom.
Eight months without a little receipt being placed on a dresser.
Eight months without having to explain why I needed a quiet afternoon.
And then, on a Monday evening, my doorbell rang.
I was preparing supper.
I wiped my hands and went to answer it.
When I opened the door, I found Seth standing on the porch.
He was smiling.
Not the uncertain smile of someone who had come to ask a difficult favor.
He looked cheerful.
He had two large suitcases beside him.
Under one arm, he carried a dog bed.
His other hand held the dog's leash.
I stood in the doorway.
"Hi, Mom!"
I looked at the luggage.
Then I looked at the dog.
"Hello, Seth."
He stepped closer.
"Well, I've got a funny situation."
I waited.
He began explaining.
He had accepted a job at the co-op in Seward.
I hadn't known he was planning to move.
Apparently, things had happened quickly.
He and Shawna had sold their house in Aurora.
Three days.
That was all it had taken.
I congratulated him.
Selling a house that quickly was good news.
Then he explained the problem.
Their next house was also in Seward.
But the closing had been delayed.
They couldn't move into it for another six weeks.
I listened.
He looked perfectly comfortable telling me all this.
Then he glanced toward the inside of my house.
"Mom, we're going to need somewhere to stay."
I didn't answer immediately.
He smiled.
"Just until the new place is ready."
I looked at the suitcases again.
He seemed to assume I understood what he meant.
"We figured we'd come here."
There it was.
Not a question.
Not even a particularly careful request.
A decision.
He had already brought his luggage.
I looked at him.
Then I looked past him at the truck.
I could see there was more room in the back for other belongings.
"There's always a motel," I said.
Seth gave a short laugh.
"Mom, six weeks in a motel would cost a fortune."
He looked toward the hallway.
Then back at me.
"You have a spare room."
I said nothing.
He smiled again.
And I suddenly remembered the little pad of paper.
Click here to continue reading: PART 4: I Made Up Two Beds and Put an Old Receipt Inside an Envelope Before My Son Returned Expecting His Free Room
I Thought My Son Was Giving Me a Place to Stay Until He Put a Price on the Guest Room
Part 3 of 20
