A few mornings after I unpacked the last kitchen box, Hugh called.
I was sitting near the window with my coffee.
The hardware store had just opened downstairs.
I could hear the little bell ringing whenever somebody entered.
I answered the phone.
"Hello, sweetheart."
"Hi, Mama."
His voice sounded different that morning.
Not quite as distant as before.
He asked how I was doing.
I told him I was fine.
Then he asked whether I had time to talk.
"Of course."
There was a pause.
"The kids keep asking about you."
I smiled.
"I miss them."
"Augie especially."
That made me laugh.
"That boy always has something to say."
Hugh laughed a little, too.
Then his voice became serious again.
"They don't really understand why you aren't coming over."
I looked down at my coffee.
"What have you told them?"
"That you found another place to live."
I nodded, although he couldn't see me.
"That's true."
"They keep asking whether they did something wrong."
My heart sank.
I hadn't thought about that.
Children often believed they were responsible for things adults never explained properly.
I didn't want Augie or the other two grandchildren thinking Grandma had left because she didn't love them.
"Please tell them they didn't do anything wrong."
"I know."
"And tell them I still want to see them."
"I will."
We spoke for a few more minutes.
Before ending the call, Hugh asked whether I would be willing to visit.
I told him I would.
We didn't choose a day.
But it was the first time since moving that the possibility of seeing them had felt comfortable.
After the call, I sat quietly.
I thought about the children.
I thought about the little room above the garage.
I remembered Augie's question about the smell.
He had been so honest.
I wondered whether he remembered that afternoon.
I hoped he didn't think I had been unhappy because of him.
That afternoon, I went downstairs to the hardware store.
Mr. Crenshaw was helping a customer choose a replacement filter.
When he finished, he looked toward me.
"Everything all right upstairs?"
"Yes. Just wanted to stretch my legs."
He smiled.
"Good idea."
I bought a few groceries from the market across the street.
Then I returned to the apartment.
I put everything away.
I was beginning to enjoy having a routine again.
No one needed me to prepare lunch for three children.
No one was waiting for me to finish breakfast so I could start another job.
I could decide when to cook.
I could decide when to rest.
It was a small freedom.
But I had missed it.
Two days later, Hugh called again.
This time, he asked whether the children could come see my apartment.
I smiled.
"Of course they can."
He said they were excited.
I told him to bring them whenever it worked for everybody.
After hanging up, I looked around.
The apartment was clean, but I wanted it to feel welcoming.
I straightened the chairs.
I wiped the kitchen counter.
I put a small bowl of wrapped candies on the table.
Then I checked the curtains.
I didn't want to make a big production out of their visit.
They were my grandchildren.
They didn't need anything fancy.
I simply wanted them to feel at home.
That evening, I took my husband's Army photograph from the dresser.
I moved it slightly so it faced the room.
Then I sat in the chair by the window.
I remembered Hugh as a little boy.
I remembered how he used to run into the kitchen after school.
He always wanted something to eat.
Sometimes he would tell me about his day.
Sometimes he would simply sit at the table and watch me cook.
I had loved being his mother.
I still did.
That was what made everything so difficult.
I could be disappointed in the man he had become in certain moments without forgetting the child he had once been.
I hoped he understood that someday.
Click here to continue reading: PART 14: When the Children Came Upstairs, Augie Recognized the Small Window and Asked Whether Grandma Finally Had a Real Kitchen
My Son Offered Me a Place to Live, but the Price He Put on My Independence Was Something I Never Expected
Part 13 of 20
