Todd turned to another page.
The handwriting was smaller there.
He had written down the monthly expenses again, with adjustments in the margins.
"I went over the figures after you moved," he said.
I looked at him.
"Why?"
He hesitated.
"Because Michelle was upset. And because I started wondering whether I'd handled it badly."
Michelle wiped beneath one eye with the back of her hand.
Todd continued.
"I realized I had looked at what you could pay, not what you would have left."
That was a better place to start.
I reached for the pad.
He slid it across the table.
I read through the figures carefully.
The paper smelled faintly of the truck cab, as though he'd carried it there without putting it in a folder.
There were numbers for food, utilities, and other household costs.
Some of the estimates were reasonable.
Some were guesses.
None of them included the money I'd need for my own expenses.
"Where did you put my medicine?" I asked.
Todd leaned forward.
"What?"
"My prescriptions. Did you include those in the budget?"
He looked at the page.
"No."
"My phone bill?"
"No."
"Gas to get to the store?"
He shook his head.
I kept reading.
There was no amount for clothing.
Nothing for replacing a broken appliance in my own house, if I ever needed one.
Nothing for emergencies.
Todd had calculated what it might cost to keep me under his roof.
He hadn't calculated what it would cost me to live.
I put the pad down.
"That's what I was trying to explain to Michelle."
She folded her hands.
"I thought eight hundred would leave you enough," she said.
"Enough for what?"
She didn't answer.
I didn't expect her to.
There wasn't an easy answer.
My monthly payment was $1,640.
After eight hundred dollars, I'd have $840 left.
From that, I'd need to cover my personal expenses and anything else the arrangement didn't include.
I would also be expected to watch the children four days each week.
I had done that kind of work for years without thinking of it as work.
But at sixty-seven, I had begun to understand that time and energy were things I needed to protect, too.
"I don't mind helping with the children," I told Michelle. "I love those babies."
She nodded.
"But I need to be able to say I'm tired. I need to be able to make plans. I need to be able to go somewhere without feeling like I'm letting everybody down."
"I never wanted you to feel trapped," she said.
"I know."
I looked at the legal pad again.
"That's why we needed to talk before anyone decided anything."
Todd rubbed his forehead.
"I thought the paper would make everything clear."
"It made the price clear."
I paused.
"It didn't make the arrangement fair."
He accepted that without arguing.
I could see he was trying to find a way to explain himself that wouldn't sound like another excuse.
Finally, he said, "I was worried about money."
I looked at him.
"About the house?"
"About everything. The bills have been going up. The kids need things. We thought having you here would help us manage."
There was no shame in that.
Raising children cost money.
Running a home cost money.
I knew that better than either of them might have realized.
When Dale was alive, we had counted every dollar.
There had been weeks when we bought the cheaper meat and saved the better cuts for Sunday.
There had been winters when we wore extra layers rather than turn up the heat.
We hadn't been ashamed of being careful.
But we hadn't treated one another like expenses on a sheet of paper, either.
"Being worried about money doesn't make you wrong," I told Todd.
He looked relieved for a moment.
"Making a decision about someone else's life without asking them is where you went wrong."
His face changed.
He nodded.
"I understand."
I hoped he did.
I didn't need him to agree with every feeling I had.
I needed him to see that I wasn't a problem to be solved.
I was a person who had lost her husband, her home, and most of the familiar structure of her life in a short stretch of time.
I was trying to find my footing.
The basement had seemed like an answer because it was offered by family.
That didn't mean I had to accept it.
Michelle reached for the legal pad and turned a page.
"I didn't think about the four days the way I should have," she admitted.
I waited.
"I kept thinking about how much the children love you. I thought they'd be happy having you around."
"They would be."
"I thought it would help us, too."
"It probably would have helped in some ways."
She looked at me.
"But it would have asked a lot of me."
She nodded slowly.
I could see that she was trying to picture the arrangement from my side.
Not as her mother moving into the house.
Not as an extra adult in the basement.
As Judy, who had to get up every morning and live the life they'd arranged.
I wanted her to understand that I hadn't chosen the little house because I loved her less.
I'd chosen it because I wanted our relationship to remain one between a mother and daughter.
I didn't want to become somebody who paid rent and provided childcare in exchange for being tolerated.
"I didn't expect you to do everything for free," I said.
Michelle shook her head.
"I know."
"And I don't expect you to support me."
She looked at me with wet eyes.
"I just wanted to make my own decision."
The room became quiet again.
Outside, a grain truck moved along the road.
The low rumble passed through the window and faded.
I thought about the first evening I'd spent in the little house.
I'd sat on the porch swing with the keys in my pocket, feeling proud of myself.
Later, I'd gone inside and cried because I missed the children.
Both feelings had been real.
I could be glad I'd chosen independence and sad about what the choice had cost me.
There was no contradiction in that.
Todd glanced at the pad.
"I should have talked to you first," he said.
"Yes."
I didn't soften the answer.
He nodded again.
"I am sorry."
This time, I believed he was beginning to understand what he was apologizing for.
I closed the legal pad and pushed it gently back toward him.
"Then let's stop trying to settle this with numbers."
He looked at me.
"All right."
I turned toward Michelle.
"We can talk about the family without deciding what I owe before the conversation starts."
She wiped her cheeks.
"I want that, Mom."
I wanted it, too.
But wanting to repair something and knowing how to repair it were different matters.
We had spent ten days apart.
We couldn't make those days disappear simply because Todd had finally admitted he was responsible for the figure on the paper.
The apology mattered.
So did what happened after it.
I stood and went to the stove.
The potatoes I'd planned to peel were still sitting in a bowl beside the sink.
"I was making supper," I said. "There should be enough if you two want to stay."
Michelle looked at Todd.
Then she looked at me.
"I'd like that."
For the first time that evening, she sounded like my daughter asking to spend time with me, rather than somebody negotiating an arrangement.
It was a small change.
I was grateful for it.
Click here to continue reading: PART 7: My Daughter Helped Me Set the Table, and the Ordinary Chore Made Our Ten Days Apart Feel Even Longer
The Number My Son-in-Law Circled Twice and the Question I Was Too Afraid to Answer at My Daughter’s Table
Part 6 of 20
