PART 9
Patricia Came Back One Last Time
Six months after the divorce, my doorbell rang.
I checked the camera.
Patricia stood outside.
Alone.
I almost ignored her.
Then I opened the door.
I did not invite her inside.
She noticed.
Her eyes moved past me.
The hallway looked different.
The Monroe photographs were gone.
My grandmother’s painting was visible beyond the foyer.
Patricia’s mouth tightened.
“You redecorated.”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the new lock.
Then at me.
“I need five minutes.”
“You have five.”
Her expression showed irritation.
Then she controlled it.
“I came to apologize.”
That was not what I expected.
“For what?”
She looked offended by the question.
Then she seemed to realize how absurd that was.
“For the courthouse.”
“That’s not the biggest thing.”
“I know.”
“For Celeste.”
“Also not the biggest.”
She exhaled.
“For the house.”
I waited.
“I behaved as if it belonged to me.”
“Yes.”
“I thought because Grant was your husband, it belonged to him.”
“You were repeatedly told otherwise.”
“I know.”
Silence.
Then Patricia said something I never expected.
“I liked what this house made people think about me.”
I stared at her.
She looked toward the porch.
“When Howard died, I felt like everything I had was disappearing.”
“Then you moved here.”
“Yes.”
“And people assumed it was mine.”
I said nothing.
“I let them.”
“Yes.”
“Then eventually, I started believing it too.”
That was probably the most honest thing Patricia had ever said.
She continued.
“Grant told me I needed to stop blaming you.”
My eyebrows lifted.
“He said that?”
“Yes.”
She looked annoyed.
“He has become very difficult.”
I almost laughed.
Maybe Grant had finally learned the word no.
Patricia looked at me again.
“I was cruel to you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
I studied her.
There were dozens of things I could have said.
I could have reminded her about Celeste.
The insults.
The courthouse celebration.
The property claim.
The attempted loan.
The years of treating me like a tenant in my own home.
Instead, I said one thing.
“Thank you.”
She looked surprised.
“Do you forgive me?”
I thought carefully.
“I don’t hate you.”
“That isn’t what I asked.”
“No.”
Her face fell.
“Maybe someday.”
She nodded slowly.
Then she looked through the doorway one last time.
“I miss the house.”
“I know.”
“It was beautiful at Christmas.”
“Yes.”
She gave a sad smile.
“I suppose you won’t invite me.”
“No.”
For once, she accepted the answer.
She turned.
Then stopped.
“Allison.”
“Yes?”
“I really did think Grant would keep the house.”
“I know.”
She almost laughed at herself.
“That was stupid.”
“Yes.”
Then she left.
