Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Evelyn Mercer
Lily gathered the thread carefully.
Watching her, I noticed something I had missed earlier.
The sewing machine was old, but well maintained.
The fabric around it wasn’t random.
Some pieces had neat chalk marks.
Others were pinned with small paper labels.
Names.
Measurements.
Dates.
This wasn’t a child trying to earn rent by herself.
At least, not exactly.
Sarah saw where I was looking.
“She helps me sort things,” she said quickly. “Nothing more.”
Lily looked offended.
“I do hems.”
“You do crooked hems.”
“They’re getting straighter.”
Sarah smiled then.
It transformed her face.
For the first time since I had entered the apartment, the room didn’t seem quite so bleak.
Just tired.
Lived in.
Holding together.
“Lily,” Sarah said gently, “would you get me some water?”
The girl hurried toward the kitchen.
Sarah waited until she was out of earshot.
Then she looked at me again.
“I know why you’re here.”
I said nothing.
“The rent.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
She didn’t offer excuses.
That surprised me.
People offered me excuses all day.
Suppliers.
Employees.
Contractors.
Tenants.
Everyone wanted circumstances to count more than numbers when the numbers weren’t on their side.
But Sarah simply stood there, looking embarrassed.
“I had planned to catch up,” she said.
“With sewing?”
“And alterations. Before I got sick, I worked at a tailoring shop near Grant Avenue.”
“What happened?”
“Owner retired. Shop closed.”
“And then?”
“I started taking work from home.”
She gave a small shrug.
“It wasn’t much, but it kept us going.”
I glanced at the medicine boxes beside the bed.
“And now?”
“Now I’ve been going through treatment.”
“For what?”
She hesitated.
I immediately regretted asking.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
“Autoimmune condition,” she said. “It became worse this year. The medication helps, but the fatigue makes working difficult.”
There was no drama in the way she explained it.
That somehow made it harder to hear.
Lily returned carrying a plastic cup with both hands.
“Slowly,” Sarah told her.
“I am.”
“You’re running.”
“I’m walking fast.”
Sarah accepted the cup.
“Thank you.”
Then Lily looked at me.
“Are we moving?”
The question landed more heavily than I expected.
Sarah’s face tightened.
“Lily.”
“What?”
“We talked about this.”
“You said if the landlord came, maybe we’d have to.”
I looked toward the envelope still lying on the table.
Forty dollars.
Carefully folded.
Carefully saved.
I sat down in the nearest chair.
“No one is moving today.”
Lily studied me.
“Today?”
Children had an irritating talent for hearing exactly what adults hoped they wouldn’t.
Sarah gave me a tired look.
“She catches loopholes.”
“I can see that.”
“Mom says details matter.”
“She’s right.”
Lily seemed satisfied by this and returned to the sewing table.
Sarah lowered herself slowly onto the edge of the bed.
I remained seated across the room.
Between us sat years I didn’t understand.
“You said you recognized me,” I said.
Sarah looked toward Lily again.
Then back at me.
“From photographs.”
“What photographs?”
She didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, she rested the water cup between her palms.
“My mother knew your mother.”
Something inside me shifted.
“My mother?”
“Yes.”
May you like
“What was your mother’s name?”
“Evelyn Mercer.”
