her I loved Sadie very much, and that loving someone didn’t require allowing them to take what was yours.
Nora was quiet for a moment.
“Does that mean I can still come over?” she asked.
“Any time we agree on a visit,” I said.
“And you never have to earn a place here by doing chores.”
In the spring, Nora came to help me prune the pear trees.
We worked in the lower orchard where Paul had repaired the stone wall, and I let her choose which branches to keep.
When we finished, she asked if we could make his apple cake together.
We mixed it in a bowl with a chip along the rim.
I showed her the trick of leaving small pieces of apple so the center stayed soft.
While the cake baked, the front doorbell rang.
Della had stopped by with soup and fresh bread.
She held them out carefully, as though unsure I would let her enter after what happened at Thanksgiving.
“I should have spoken up sooner,” she said.
“Yes,” I answered.
Then I opened the door wider.
We ate at the walnut table, returned to the middle of the dining room.
No rented chairs.
No list of people who expected feeding.
I set out three bowls, and Nora carried the bread.
When the timer rang, she started to get up for the cake, but I shook my head.
“Sit,” I said, smiling.
“I’ll get it because I want to.”
I cut three pieces, poured myself a cup of tea, and took my seat while the cake was still warm.
Beyond the window, the pear trees were starting to bloom.
For the first time in years, I didn’t feel that I was waiting to be useful to somebody else.
I was home.
