Part 5
Graham did not sit down when I let him into Apartment 3B.
He stood near the window, staring at the wet street below.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
I did not trust him.
He had spent the funeral looking at me like I had stolen something from his family.
Maybe I had.
Not the house.
Not the money.
But peace.
Margaret had not died alone.
She had died with me beside her.
Graham had arrived at the hospital twenty minutes after she passed.
He had never forgiven me for being there first.
Finally, he said, “The house has water damage.”
I blinked.
“What?”
“A pipe burst in the basement two days after the funeral. I did not know until yesterday.”
“Why were you not checking on it?”
His face hardened.
“I have a job.”
“So did I.”
He ignored that.
“The basement flooded. The furnace is damaged. There is mold in one of the storage rooms.”
“I am sorry.”
He looked angry at my answer.
“I cannot afford all of it right now.”
I said nothing.
Margaret’s house was paid off.
But repairs were expensive.
And Graham had a wife, two children, and a mortgage of his own.
Still, it was his house now.
Not mine.
“What do you want from me?” I asked.
He reached into his coat pocket and took out a folded piece of paper.
It was a contractor estimate.
The number at the bottom made my stomach drop.
Twenty-eight thousand dollars.
“I do not have it,” he said.
“I do not either.”
“You have no debt now.”
The room went cold.
I stared at him.
He looked away.
“I am not asking you for money.”
“It sounded like you were.”
“I am asking you to help with the work.”
I laughed once.
“You came here because you need labor.”
“I came here because Margaret trusted you with the house for the last year.”
“She did not trust me. She knew I wanted it.”
“She still trusted you enough to stay.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
Graham looked at the floor.
Then he said, “She told me about you.”
I went still.
“What?”
“Not everything. Not the debt. Not the investigator. But she told me she had met someone who was scared and proud and too young to understand how much he was hurting.”
I stared at him.
“She said that?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before you married.”
I felt something shift in my chest.
Graham rubbed a hand over his face.
“I thought she was being taken advantage of. I still think you made horrible choices. But she was not confused, Tyler. She knew exactly what she was doing.”
I did not know why that hurt.
Maybe because I had wanted Margaret to be innocent.
I wanted to believe she loved me without understanding the ugly truth.
But she had understood.
And she had loved me in whatever way she could anyway.
I looked at the contractor estimate.
“What needs to be done?”
Graham explained.
The basement had to be emptied.
Drywall removed.
Old pipes replaced.
The furnace inspected.
The storage room cleaned.
He had insurance, but not enough.
I could not pay for it.
But I knew how to work.
At Mercy Harbor, I had learned where to get donated materials.
I knew two contractors from my old construction job who might owe me favors.
I knew how to patch walls.
Replace fixtures.
Haul ruined furniture out of a flooded basement.
I looked at Graham.
“If I help, it does not change anything.”
“I know.”
“I am not doing it to get the house.”
“I know.”
“I am not doing it so you can forgive me.”
His face tightened.
“I am not sure I can.”
“Fine.”
He nodded.
“Fine.”
The next morning, I took unpaid leave from Mercy Harbor and went to Margaret’s house.
The porch light was off.
For the first time in years, the windows looked dark.
The front door opened with the same familiar creak.
The smell inside was damp now.
Not cinnamon.
Not coffee.
Not Margaret’s lavender hand lotion.
Just wet carpet and old wood.
I stood in the foyer for a second too long.
Graham watched me.
“You okay?”
“No.”
Then I went downstairs.
The basement was worse than I expected.
Water had soaked boxes of old papers.
Furniture was ruined.
Mold crawled up the lower part of the drywall.
I started working without speaking.
We carried ruined boxes to the curb.
We pulled up soaked carpet.
We removed damaged insulation.
At one point, I found an old cardboard box under the stairs.
The lid had collapsed from water damage.
Inside were Christmas decorations.
A ceramic angel.
A broken string of lights.
A stack of old cards.
And a sealed envelope with my name on it.
Graham saw it too.
His face changed.
“What is that?”
I picked it up.
The envelope was dry because it had been inside a plastic bag.
My name was written in Margaret’s handwriting.
Tyler — Read when you finally understand what a house is for.
My hands started shaking.
Graham looked at me.
“Well?”
I stared at the envelope.
May you like
Then I put it in my pocket.
“I do not understand yet,” I said.
