Jeff kept his hand beside the object.
I waited for him to explain.
He looked tired enough to fall asleep in the chair, but he didn't seem ready to go upstairs.
Neither was I.
The kitchen clock ticked above the doorway.
I could hear Dale moving around in our bedroom overhead.
Jeff glanced at the notebook I had closed.
"Have you always kept those receipts?"
"Most of them."
"Why?"
I thought about it.
"Because I wanted to know what we'd spent."
He rubbed his forehead.
"That's a lot of money, Tam."
"It didn't happen all at once."
I told him about the roof, the furnace, and the wiring.
I didn't make a speech out of it.
He knew the house had been in bad shape when we moved in.
He had seen enough of the work to understand that we hadn't simply changed a few things to suit our taste.
We had repaired what needed repairing.
Jeff looked toward the ceiling.
"I remember that first winter."
"So do I."
He almost smiled.
"You wore two pairs of socks to bed."
"Three, some nights."
That got a quiet laugh out of him.
For a moment, he looked more like my brother.
Then the smile disappeared.
He touched the edge of the object again.
"I wasn't trying to cause trouble when I came here."
"I know."
"I know Mom and Dad wanted the house back."
"I know that too."
He lowered his eyes.
"I don't want you losing your home because of me."
I sat back.
That was the first thing he had said all evening that I needed him to understand.
"You're not making me lose anything, Jeff."
He didn't answer.
"My decision about the house is between me and our parents. You and the kids are here because you need somewhere to stay."
He looked at me.
"And because I wanted you here," I added.
I hadn't planned to say that.
It came out before I could make it sound less emotional.
Jeff swallowed.
He looked down at his hands.
For a while, neither of us spoke.
Then he asked whether I had been angry with him when Mom made her request.
I told him I had been angry about the request.
That wasn't the same thing.
He nodded, but I could tell he was still trying to separate the two.
"I should have called you sooner," he said.
"Maybe."
He looked surprised that I hadn't immediately told him it didn't matter.
I wasn't trying to punish him.
I was simply tired of pretending that everything had been fine.
We had both spent years assuming the other person understood what we meant.
Sometimes that worked.
Sometimes it left a lot unsaid.
Jeff leaned back in his chair.
"I didn't know what to do after January."
I let him continue.
He told me that the separation had happened faster than he expected.
He hadn't imagined himself moving his children into somebody else's house.
He hadn't expected to be carrying their belongings in a pickup while trying to act as though the move was temporary and ordinary.
I listened.
He didn't tell me every detail.
I didn't ask him to.
There were things he might explain later, when he felt ready.
There were other things that were his to keep private.
When he finished, I poured him some water.
He drank half the glass.
Then he looked at the object again.
"I really thought you might remember it."
"I might, if you tell me what I'm supposed to remember."
He gave a small nod.
But he didn't explain it yet.
Instead, he asked whether the upstairs bedrooms had always been closed.
I told him why we had stopped using them.
Heating the whole house had cost too much, especially in winter.
We had closed off the rooms and concentrated on keeping the downstairs warm.
Jeff listened carefully.
"I guess I haven't really looked around this place in years."
"You've been busy living your own life."
He didn't argue.
I knew what he meant, though.
He had grown up here.
He had memories of the rooms, the stairs, and the things our parents had kept.
But the house had changed while he was away.
Dale and I had repaired it.
We had raised Hannah.
We had made decisions about every part of it.
The farmhouse was familiar to Jeff, but it wasn't frozen in the past he remembered.
I looked at the object between us.
"Whatever you've found, we can look at it together."
He nodded.
Then he carefully picked it up again.
"I want to get some sleep first."
"All right."
He stood and carried it toward the stairs.
I watched him go.
I was disappointed that he hadn't explained more, but I wasn't going to force him.
There had been enough pressure in the house already.
I wanted the children to wake up the next morning without sensing that every adult conversation might change where they slept.
Jeff paused at the bottom step.
"Tam?"
I looked up.
"Thanks for letting us come here."
I nodded.
"You don't have to thank me every time you walk into the kitchen."
He gave a tired smile.
Then he went upstairs.
I remained at the table for another minute.
The spiral notebook sat beside my chair.
The old house settled around me.
I still didn't know what Jeff had found.
But I knew why he had come downstairs.
He had needed to ask me something he couldn't quite put into words.
And for once, I had managed not to answer a question he hadn't asked.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Monday Morning Brought School Bags, Coffee Cups, and the First Real Chance to See Whether Our New Arrangement Could Work
The Evening My Parents Came to Ask for Something They Had No Right to Assume I Would Give Them
Part 9 of 16
