I stood in the doorway while Seth continued talking.
He seemed to think the difficult part of the conversation was already over.
He had explained the delayed closing.
He had explained the expense of a motel.
And he had reminded me that I had an extra bedroom.
In his mind, that appeared to settle everything.
I looked at his two suitcases.
Then at the dog bed.
The dog was standing beside him, looking around as though he had already decided this was his new home.
I wondered whether Seth had even considered asking me first.
Apparently not.
I had spent four months in his guest room.
I had paid four hundred and fifty dollars every month.
And now he was standing in my doorway expecting me to make room for his entire family.
Not once had he mentioned money.
Not once had he acknowledged what I had paid him.
I could have reminded him.
The words were right there.
I could have asked whether he planned to charge me again for the privilege of being his mother.
But I didn't.
Instead, I smiled.
"Well, that's quite a change of plans."
He took that as agreement.
"Shawna will bring the rest of our things tomorrow morning."
I nodded.
"The kids can sleep in the living room. They're teenagers, so they'll be fine."
I looked at him.
He was already imagining how the rooms would work.
He even began considering which bedroom might suit his wife best.
"Which room gets the morning light?"
He asked because Shawna wasn't fond of getting up early.
I listened.
I really did.
But something inside me had gone very still.
He hadn't asked whether I was comfortable with the arrangement.
He hadn't asked whether I wanted a house full of people for six weeks.
He hadn't even asked whether the dog was welcome.
He had simply arrived with luggage.
And he expected me to say yes.
I thought about the way he had stood beside my guest bed eight months earlier.
I remembered the little pad.
I remembered the way he had written the amount.
Four hundred and fifty dollars.
I remembered sitting on the mattress afterward, trying not to cry loudly enough for anyone to hear.
Then I looked at my son.
He was still smiling.
"All right, honey," I said.
His expression brightened.
"Really?"
"Give me until tomorrow evening. I'll get the room ready."
He stepped forward and kissed my cheek.
"You're wonderful, Mom."
I didn't answer that.
They didn't stay at my house that night.
Seth took his luggage back to the truck.
He and the dog went to Shawna's sister's house.
There wasn't much room there.
She already had three children living in a two-bedroom home.
But they managed to find a place for one night.
Seth said Shawna would bring the rest of their belongings the following morning.
I watched his truck leave.
Then I closed the front door.
The house became quiet again.
I stood in the hallway for a moment.
I could still picture him looking toward the guest bedroom.
I could still hear his voice asking about the morning sunlight.
I went into the kitchen.
Then I picked up the telephone.
There was one person I wanted to speak with.
Gaylene.
She answered after a few rings.
"Hello?"
I didn't waste time explaining.
"Gaylene, your landlord has arrived at my house."
For a moment, she didn't understand.
Then she did.
She laughed so hard that she could barely speak.
I could hear her moving around.
Eventually, she told me she needed to sit down.
I laughed too.
It felt good.
But after a minute, my voice became serious.
I told her what Seth had said.
I explained that he had brought two suitcases and the dog.
I told her about the delayed closing.
And I told her he expected to stay in my spare room for six weeks.
Gaylene went quiet.
She hadn't told Shawna about what Seth had charged me.
She had always believed that it was something I needed to discuss with my own son.
She didn't want to create trouble between them.
I understood her reasoning.
Still, there was something we both needed to talk about now.
I told her what I was planning.
I explained the little receipt.
I explained that I wanted Seth to see exactly what it had felt like to be treated as a paying guest in his home.
Gaylene listened.
She didn't interrupt.
When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.
Then she spoke.
"Oh, Carla."
I could hear the emotion in her voice.
She told me she would come over the next evening.
Six o'clock.
She would bring a pie.
I thanked her.
Then we ended the call.
That night, I couldn't sleep properly.
I went to bed at my usual time.
I turned off the television.
I adjusted my pillow.
But my thoughts kept returning to the same question.
Was I doing the right thing?
I was seventy-seven.
I had no interest in spending the rest of my life fighting with my family.
I wanted peaceful holidays.
I wanted to see my grandchildren.
I wanted to be able to call my son without wondering whether he would answer.
What if Seth became angry?
What if he decided I was being unreasonable?
What if he stopped bringing the children to see me?
That thought hurt more than I expected.
I turned onto my other side.
Maybe I was making too much of the whole thing.
Maybe I should simply open the guest room.
Make the beds.
Let them stay.
After all, they were family.
But then another memory came back.
The night I had first arrived in Aurora.
The guest bedroom.
The dresser.
The little piece of paper.
I remembered how carefully I had folded the receipt before putting it away.
I remembered turning the television up because I didn't want anyone to hear me crying.
And I remembered Gaylene sitting beside me at the school concert.
She had spent five months in that same room.
She had been treated with kindness.
She had been allowed to recover without worrying about a bill.
I had received a different welcome.
That was what kept me awake.
Not the money alone.
The difference.
The next morning, I got out of bed earlier than usual.
I made coffee.
I sat at the kitchen table.
Then I went to my sewing box.
It was the same box I had carried from the farm.
Inside were old buttons, spare thread, measuring tapes, and things I had collected over decades of sewing.
At the bottom were the receipts.
I took them out.
There were four.
I looked through them slowly.
Each one had Seth's name printed across the top.
Each one carried the amount he had asked me to pay.
I found the last receipt.
The one I had left on his dresser when I moved out.
I held it between my fingers.
For a moment, I considered putting it back.
I wondered whether I was being childish.
Then I took out my good pen.
I crossed out the old date.
Carefully, I wrote the new date.
I didn't change anything else.
The amount remained.
The wording remained.
His name remained printed at the top.
It was the same little receipt he had once placed beside my bed.
Only now, it was waiting for him.
I folded it carefully.
I placed it inside an envelope.
Then I wrote his name across the front.
SETH.
I put the envelope on the kitchen table.
After that, I turned my attention to the bedrooms.
I had already decided what I wanted to do.
I went into the spare room.
I stripped the bed.
I brought out my best quilt.
It was one I had kept folded away because I didn't want it getting dirty.
I spread it across the mattress.
I added fresh sheets.
Then I placed clean towels where the children would find them.
I wanted my grandchildren to feel welcome.
They hadn't done anything wrong.
They were simply following their parents.
I made sure there was enough room for their belongings.
Then I went into the living room.
I pulled out the couch.
I arranged the bedding for Seth and Shawna.
I put clean pillows at the head.
I folded the blankets neatly.
I stepped back and looked at everything.
The children had a comfortable bed.
Seth and Shawna had a place to sleep.
Nobody was being turned away.
Nobody was being asked to spend money on a motel.
But the arrangement was not what Seth had expected.
Before leaving the hallway, I went into the spare room one more time.
I found a small vase.
I filled it with water.
Then I placed some mums inside.
I set the flowers on the dresser.
I stood there looking at them.
I had raised Seth to understand kindness.
I had tried to teach him that family mattered.
I wasn't going to stop being his mother just because he had forgotten something important.
But being his mother didn't mean I had to pretend I hadn't been hurt.
At a quarter to six the following evening, I heard a vehicle pull into the driveway.
I looked through the window.
It was Seth.
He climbed out of the truck.
He was carrying the same two suitcases.
The dog bed was tucked under his arm.
He was whistling as he walked toward the porch.
Shawna followed behind him.
She had a laundry basket in one hand and a lamp in the other.
I opened the door.
Seth smiled.
"That smells wonderful in here."
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation.
He began walking toward the hallway.
"Is the bedroom on the left?"
I watched him.
Then I spoke.
"Wait a minute, honey."
He turned around.
"I have something I want you to look at first."
I reached for the envelope.
He looked at it and laughed.
"Mom, you didn't need to get me a greeting card."
Shawna lowered the lamp.
She was watching me now.
I held the envelope out to my son.
"It's not a card, Seth."
Click here to continue reading: PART 5: My Son Finally Opened the Envelope, and the Expression on His Face Was Nothing Like the Smile He Had Arrived With
I Thought My Son Was Giving Me a Place to Stay Until He Put a Price on the Guest Room
Part 4 of 20
