Chapter 5 - Holding the Line
“Why didn’t I recognize your name?” I asked.
“Mercer was my maiden name.”
“What’s your last name now?”
“Bennett.”
I nodded.
Of course.
The lease listed Sarah Bennett.
I had seen it dozens of times.
Just another name attached to another unit.
“How long have you lived here?”
“Four years.”
“And you never contacted me?”
Sarah looked genuinely puzzled.
“Why would I?”
“You knew who I was.”
“I knew who you had been.”
That answer stayed with me.
Who I had been.
Not who I was.
I looked around the apartment.
The patched curtain.
The sewing machine.
A school drawing taped to the wall.
A small stack of library books.
Nothing here was staged to earn sympathy.
This was simply their life.
I thought about the eviction notice in my coat pocket.
My lawyer had prepared it that morning.
Routine procedure.
Failure to pay.
Notice to vacate.
Simple language for something that was not simple at all.
Sarah seemed to read my expression.
“I don’t expect special treatment because our mothers knew each other.”
“This isn’t about special treatment.”
“It should be.”
I looked at her.
She continued.
“You run a business. I signed a lease. I haven’t paid what I owe.”
Her voice was calm.
Almost painfully practical.
“That doesn’t mean I’m putting you and Lily on the street.”
“No.”
“Good.”
“It also doesn’t mean you can pretend the debt doesn’t exist because you feel guilty.”
That irritated me.
Mostly because she was right.
“I don’t feel guilty.”
Sarah raised one eyebrow.
It was the same look my mother used to give me when I lied badly.
I exhaled.
“Fine.”
Lily glanced over.
“Are you arguing?”
“No,” Sarah and I said at exactly the same time.
Lily considered that.
Then she returned to her threads.
Sarah hid a smile.
I looked around for something to do with my hands.
“Why were you sewing if you’re this sick?”
“Because the electric company has strong opinions about being paid.”
“That wasn’t what I meant.”
“I know.”
Her expression softened.
“I’m getting better. Slowly. The doctor changed my treatment recently.”
“And Lily?”
“What about her?”
“She shouldn’t be worrying about rent.”
Sarah’s face fell.
“She shouldn’t.”
There was a weight in those two words that told me she had already judged herself far more harshly than I could.
“She doesn’t sew for money,” Sarah added. “Not really. I teach her because she likes it. She organizes fabric, threads needles, sometimes does simple stitches. The money in that envelope is hers.”
“Hers?”
“Birthday money. A few dollars from helping Mrs. Alvarez carry groceries. She found out I was behind and decided to make a rent fund.”
I looked at Lily.
She was pretending not to listen.
“She’s seven,” I said quietly.
“I know.”
“And she thought forty dollars could save your apartment.”
May you like
Sarah swallowed.
“I know.”
