Opal held her cup with both hands.
She took a small sip, then looked toward the window.
The sunlight had moved across the kitchen floor.
I sat opposite her and tried to guess what she was thinking.
She had spent the morning looking at our repairs without making much comment.
She had asked about the purchase price, the work, and why we had kept the house a secret.
I had answered honestly.
Still, I felt as though there was something else she wanted to know.
She set down her cup.
"Does Nate know I'm here?"
"He knows you asked me to pick you up."
"Did you tell him why?"
"No."
She nodded.
"Good."
I looked at her.
"Is there a reason you didn't want him to come?"
"I wanted to speak with you first."
I waited for her to explain.
She didn't.
Instead, she looked around the kitchen again.
The crooked cabinet door caught her attention.
I had meant to fix it the previous evening, but my shift at the truck stop had run late.
I felt the old urge to explain what was unfinished.
"It's on our list," I said.
Opal looked back at me.
"I didn't ask about the cabinet."
I felt my cheeks warm.
"No. You didn't."
She took another sip of coffee.
I had spent so much time worrying about what other people might think of our house that I had started defending it before anyone criticized it.
Opal seemed to notice.
"How much of the work are you doing yourself?"
"Most of the cleaning and painting. Nate handles the repairs he knows how to do."
"And your jobs?"
"I still work at the hospital during the week."
"Someone told me you worked at a diner, too."
"It's a truck stop outside town."
"How often?"
"Friday and Saturday nights, and Sunday mornings."
Opal stared at me.
"Every week?"
"Most weeks."
She put her cup down.
"And when do you rest?"
I laughed because I didn't know how else to answer.
"When I can."
She didn't laugh with me.
I looked at the table.
I could have told her that the extra shifts were temporary.
I could have said we were almost finished saving.
But neither statement was completely true.
There was always another repair.
There was always another expense.
And we had become so used to working that I wasn't sure what we would do if we suddenly had a free weekend.
Opal folded her hands.
"Have you told Judy how much this house has cost you?"
I shook my head.
"Have you told Ronald?"
"No."
"Why?"
I looked toward the doorway.
"Because I don't want them to think we're complaining."
"About what?"
I knew what she meant.
Still, I hesitated.
"About Easter."
The word sounded small in the kitchen.
Opal did not look surprised.
She looked down at her hands.
"I see."
I waited for her to say something about the checks.
She didn't.
I began to wonder whether she had already heard the story from someone else.
Perhaps Judy had mentioned the gifts.
Perhaps Ron had told her how proud he was of our independence.
Perhaps she had seen the difference herself.
I couldn't know.
Finally, she asked, "Did the card hurt you?"
I looked at her.
The question was so plain that I couldn't hide behind a polite answer.
"Yes."
My voice sounded quieter than I expected.
Opal nodded slowly.
"Did Nate say anything?"
"Not at dinner."
"And afterward?"
"He asked how much we'd saved."
She waited.
"We decided to work more and save the rest ourselves."
"That was all?"
I thought about the drive home.
Nate's red ears.
His hands on the steering wheel.
The way he had asked about the money instead of criticizing his parents.
"He was upset," I said. "But he didn't want to argue with them."
"Neither did you."
"No."
I looked down at the coffee.
"I didn't want to seem ungrateful."
Opal's mouth tightened slightly.
"Ungrateful for what?"
I could not answer immediately.
The card had been a gift in the technical sense.
Judy had chosen it, written a message, and placed it beneath our plate.
But there had been no money.
No offer of help.
No practical support for the home we hoped to buy.
I had thanked her anyway.
"She had spent all morning cooking," I said. "Everyone was happy. I didn't want to spoil the afternoon."
Opal watched me for a moment.
"Sometimes people spend so much time keeping the peace that nobody realizes they're the ones being hurt."
I felt something tighten in my throat.
I had not expected her to say that.
I had spent months telling myself I should be grateful for the good things in my life.
Nate loved me.
We had work.
We had our health.
We had managed to buy a property without borrowing from anyone.
Those things were real.
But so was the hurt.
I could hold both truths at once.
"I don't want the money now," I said.
Opal raised her eyebrows slightly.
"I never said you did."
"I just don't want them thinking we bought this house because we're trying to make them feel bad."
"Have you done anything to make them feel bad?"
"No."
"Then why are you worrying about what they think?"
I had no good answer.
She picked up her cup again.
I watched her drink.
There was something about her directness that made it difficult to keep pretending.
I could be honest with her because she did not seem interested in making me look better than I was.
I had been jealous of the others.
I had compared our lives with theirs.
I had wondered whether Judy loved them more.
I had even imagined how satisfying it might feel if they discovered what we had accomplished and regretted overlooking us.
Those thoughts embarrassed me.
I had not said them aloud.
Now I wondered whether Opal could see them on my face.
"I know we shouldn't compare ourselves with the others," I said.
"Why shouldn't you?"
I looked up.
She continued before I could respond.
"You're allowed to notice when people are treated differently. Pretending you don't notice doesn't make the difference disappear."
I sat quietly.
She was not telling me to demand money.
She was not telling me to confront Judy.
She was simply refusing to call the hurt something it wasn't.
That was enough to make me feel a little less ashamed.
After a while, Opal stood and carried her cup to the sink.
I reached for it, but she placed it beside mine.
"I can carry a cup," she said.
"Sorry."
"You apologize too quickly."
I smiled.
"I've heard that before."
"Then perhaps you should listen."
She took her handbag from the chair.
I wondered whether she was ready to leave.
Instead, she walked back toward the front room and stopped near the window.
She looked out at the yard.
The weeds we had cleared lay in a pile near the fence, waiting to be hauled away.
The porch still needed work.
The house had a long way to go.
Yet she stood there looking at it as if she were trying to see something beyond the repairs.
"What are your plans for the property?" she asked.
"We want to finish the house and live here."
"And after that?"
I thought about the question.
"Stay here, I suppose. Make it a proper home."
She turned toward me.
"Would you ever sell it?"
The question caught me off guard.
"Not if we can help it."
"Why not?"
"Because we've worked so hard for it."
She nodded.
Then she looked toward the kitchen, where our cups sat beside the unfinished cabinet.
"That's a good reason."
I couldn't tell whether she was satisfied with the answer.
She asked me to drive her back to church.
Before we left, she stood on the porch for another moment.
She ran her hand along the repaired railing.
"Keep doing the work properly," she said.
"We will."
"And don't spend money you don't have just to make the place look finished."
I smiled.
"We've learned that lesson already."
She gave a short nod.
Then she walked toward the car.
I helped her into the passenger seat, though she insisted she could manage the step herself.
We drove back along the rural road.
For much of the journey, she remained quiet.
I did not ask what she intended to do with what she had learned.
She had asked me not to tell Ronald about the visit.
I intended to respect that.
When I dropped her off, she touched my arm before opening the door.
"Thank you for showing me the house."
"You're welcome."
"And don't let anybody make you ashamed of what you've accomplished."
I swallowed.
"I won't."
She got out and closed the door.
I watched her walk toward the church entrance before pulling away.
On the drive back to the property, I kept thinking about her questions.
She had not offered money.
She had not promised to speak to anyone.
She had not told me that everything would be all right.
But she had listened.
For the first time in months, I felt that someone in Nate's family had seen the difference between our independence and our silence.
And I wondered what Opal would do with that understanding.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Nate Wanted to Know Everything Opal Had Asked Me, but I Had Promised to Keep Her Visit Quiet Until She Was Ready to Speak
Three Envelopes Held Twenty Thousand Dollars Each, While the Card Beneath My Plate Told Me Everything About My Place in the Family
Part 9 of 13
