Chapter Forty-eight

Mina slept fitfully in her chair, dimly aware of workers tramping up and down the stairs, going in and out of the house. When she finally came fully awake, it was dusk. She couldn’t see the time on either of the watches on her wrist. Ivory was curled up in her lap. From overhead, there were heavy footsteps, thumps, and scrapes. But no more debris was clattering down the chute.

She felt groggy and dry mouthed, and she groped for her glasses for a few moments before she remembered she’d lost them at the hospital. Annabelle had lost her teeth at the nursing home. She didn’t know which was worse.

When she heard the doorbell ring, she wondered if that was what had woken her. “Brian!” Mina called. “It’s the door.” But she knew her voice was not making it up the stairs, and she certainly couldn’t be heard over the workers’ ruckus.

She cleared her throat and tried again. “Brian? The door!” The only response was the whine of what sounded like a drill.

Knock, knock, knock. “Mrs. Yetner? It’s Evie. Are you there?”

Mina got her feet untangled from the afghan, pulled the walker closer to her, and stood.

“Wait. I’m coming,” she said, though not with enough force for the girl to actually hear her.

She started toward the door, slowly, haltingly. Walkers weren’t made for speed. By the time she got to the kitchen, she was sure Evie would have given up. But there was one more knock.

“I’m here,” Mina called out as she pushed the walker ahead of her and shuffled into the entry hall, her voice stronger but probably not strong enough.

The light came on at the top of the stairwell. “Aunt Mina,” Brian called down to her. “What are you doing up? I told you to call me if you need anything.”

Well, what was the good of her calling him if he was going to be making such a racket that he couldn’t hear her? And besides, the doctor had said she should get up and move around as much as she was comfortable. “I can get it,” she called back.

Mina moved the walker forward and set it down, moved the walker and set it down, trying to get close enough to reach the door. She was almost there when she heard the hinged brass mail panel open and clack shut. Another step and the door was within reach. When she set the walker down and leaned forward to pull the door open, she heard something crack under one of the walker’s front prongs.

Ignoring it, she turned the doorknob and opened the door a few inches. It ran into the walker and she had to back up before she could open it more. It was so frustrating—such a simple act and the walker made it so cumbersome, she thought as she jockeyed back and forth until finally she had the door open enough to see out. And then, of course, she couldn’t see.

“Evie?” she called out. “Are you out there?” She groped for the wall switch and turned on the outside light.

Chapter Forty-nine

Evie was halfway back to her mother’s house when the light in front of Mrs. Yetner’s came on and the front door opened. There stood Mrs. Yetner leaning against a metal walker and squinting out. Her hair had come loose and, backlit, it looked like a spidery halo around her face.

“Mrs. Yetner?” Evie said, hurrying back. “I’m sorry to bother you. You weren’t in the hospital, and I saw the lights on, and I thought . . .” The metallic scent of overheated power tools wafted out at her. “I found your glasses and I wanted to return them to you.”

“I’m afraid to ask.” Mrs. Yetner backed up and pointed to the floor. “Are those my glasses?”

Evie came up the steps and through the door. She picked up the envelope she’d pushed through the mail slot and shook out Mrs. Yetner’s glasses. With the lenses cracked and the frame bent, they reminded her of a mangled bird skeleton. “They were,” she said. “I’m sorry. I knew you’d want them back right away, but I guess I should have waited until I could hand them to you.”

Mrs. Yetner took the broken glasses from her. When she tried to put them on, one of the lenses fell out in pieces. “Well, no use crying over spilled milk.” She set the broken glasses on the hall table. “Where on earth did you find them?”

Evie picked up the broken lens from the floor and set the pieces next to the frames. “In a potted plant by the hospital elevator. I came up to see how you were doing—”

“You did?” Mrs. Yetner put her hand to her heart.

“Of course I did.” Evie found herself choked up. They’d barely reconnected, and yet there was something about her relationship with this woman, a simple pleasure in shared company, that she’d never experienced with her own mother or grandmother.

“Imagine that,” Mrs. Yetner said. “There they were, in a potted plant by the hospital elevator. I wonder how they got there?” Evie followed her gaze halfway up the stairs to where Brian was standing looking down at them. “Whatever made you look there?”

Evie said, “I’d been helping the nurse look for them in your room. Then I was waiting for the elevator and there they were.” In retrospect, it was amazing that she’d noticed them.

“It’s a good thing my nephew has already ordered me another pair. Haven’t you, Brian?”

Evie looked up the stairs again. Brian was still there.

“Is that chicken soup I smell?” Mrs. Yetner said.

“It is.” As Evie showed Mina the take-out bag, she realized it had begun to leak. “Uh-oh.” She hurried into the kitchen and set it in the sink. Mina shuffled in after her with her walker. Brian came in after.

“I know you mean well,” Brian said to Evie, “but my aunt is exhausted.” His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his pant legs and boat shoes were covered with dust. “She’s been resting all day. She’s still recovering from her injuries. The accident. The operation.”

“The construction,” Mrs. Yetner added. “Which somehow I managed to sleep through. My nephew is building me a new bathroom upstairs. Handicap accessible.” Mrs. Yetner spit out those final words as if they had a bad taste. “Isn’t that lovely?”

“That’s wonderful. I saw the truck outside,” Evie said. She hoped no one was planning to “renovate” the downstairs. But Evie suspected that if Mrs. Yetner’s nephew inherited the house, the only way the period-perfect rooms could be preserved would be in photographs, and Evie would have to take them.

“Apparently I need grab bars.” Mrs. Yetner turned to Brian, her face softening. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful. Really, Brian, it’s very thoughtful of you.” She turned back to Evie. “My nephew is making the changes so I can live here instead of going into a nursing home.” She sniffed the air and shuffled to the sink where Evie had left the soup.

“And you’ll have someone staying with you?” Evie asked.

Brian answered. “Dora will be here soon. She’s making supper and staying overnight.”

“My nurse, apparently,” Mrs. Yetner said. “Evie, dear, why don’t you get down some dishes and silverware and we can talk.”

“Talk?” Brian said. “About what?”

“Nothing that concerns you,” Mrs. Yetner said, winking at Evie.

Evie felt a little bad for Brian. “Would you like some, too?” she offered. “I’ve got soup, sweet plantains, black beans, and rice.” She opened one of the take-out boxes to show him the black beans, releasing the smell of garlic and cilantro. Evie’s mouth watered.

“No, thank you,” Brian said. “Maybe later.” He opened a closet, pulled out a vacuum cleaner, and clomped up the stairs with it.

Once he’d disappeared, Mrs. Yetner sat at the table. Evie pulled two bowls and salad plates from the cabinet. She found forks and soup spoons in a drawer.

“Now he’s vacuuming,” Mrs. Yetner said, under her breath. “When he was little, he’d never lift a finger to clean up after himself unless he got paid. In advance. We used to joke and call him the COD kid.” She gazed up at the ceiling, which was creaking.