Carly — The window in the back bedroom sticks. Please don’t force it. — M.W.
Carly — Susan is visiting next week. Could you please make up the blue room? Extra blankets in the hall closet. — M.W.
Carly — There’s soup in the refrigerator if you’d like some. — M.W.
I didn’t take the soup. I thought maybe she was just being polite.
I started leaving notes back. Short ones, on the back of her notes, in my own messy handwriting.
Mrs. W — Out of dish soap. Bought more. Receipt is under the salt shaker. — C.
Mrs. W — The kitchen faucet is dripping. Might need a new washer. — C.
Mrs. W — Found an earring under the couch cushion. Pearl. It’s in the little dish by the door. — C.
Sometimes she was home. On those days, she mostly stayed out of my way. She’d sit in the living room with a book, or out on the back porch with a cup of tea. When I passed her, she’d nod. When I finished, she’d walk through the house and say thank you.
Once in a while, she’d ask a question.
“How is your daughter?”
“She’s good. She’s in fourth grade. She likes to draw.”
“What does she draw?”
“Houses, mostly. She draws houses all the time. Little floor plans. Where the rooms go. She says she’s going to build her own house someday.”
Mrs. Whitaker nodded. “That’s a good ambition.”
