The Nest(94)

“Keep them where?”

“I have a storage unit,” Jack said. “A place for backup inventory. If it turns out you don’t want the stuff, we can always sell it.”

“You guys did this for me?” Melody was dazed and grateful.

“We can only keep what you really want,” Jack said. He started organizing everyone. They needed to make a list, figure out what was worth storing. Choose the most important things.

“Why don’t you guys start upstairs,” Melody said. “I’ll make us some tea. The kettle isn’t packed yet.”

Nora and Louisa ran up the stairs with Walt. “How about the stained-glass window in the hall?” she could hear Louisa say. “Mom loves that window.” Jack followed her into the kitchen. He looked around the room.

“I don’t think there’s much in here to keep,” he said. “These cabinets are from the ’70s.”

“Jack.” Melody stood at the sink, filling a kettle with water. “I don’t know how to thank you,” she said. “This is—”

“It’s what I do. It’s easy. But we’re paying this crew by the hour so we should move quickly.”

“It won’t take long,” she said. She put the kettle on the stove, lit the gas. “What’s going on with Walker?”

Jack shrugged. “Things are getting settled. I handed over my share of The Nest and he made up the difference to pay off my debt. We’re selling the house. He’s being generous. I won’t get half, but I’ll get enough to keep the store afloat for a bit while I figure out whether to sell it or not. He’s letting me keep the apartment.”

“But what’s going on between you? Other than business.”

Jack sat down at the kitchen table. Melody thought he looked thinner than usual but he seemed better than the last time she’d seen him. “How old were you when you got married?” he asked.

“Barely twenty-two. A baby.”

“I was twenty-four when I met Walker. Do you know I’ve never lived alone? I’m forty-four years old and I’ve never lived alone. The first few weeks Walker was gone, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I’d stay in the store until late, pick up some takeout, and just watch television until I fell asleep.”

Melody looked around the kitchen. She’d spent every night for weeks dismantling their lives and wrapping it in newspaper for packing. Her nails were ragged and black with newsprint; her arms and shoulders were sore from heaving boxes around. “Sounds kind of great right now.”

Jack looked at her and nodded. “It is kind of great. That’s my point. I miss Walker. I miss him terribly and I don’t know what’s going to happen. But for the first time ever, I’m only accountable to myself and I like it. I’m not proud of why I’m at this point, but I’m doing my best to figure it out, and I’m kind of enjoying it, parts of it anyway.”

Melody wondered what it would be like to live alone—to come home every night and turn on the lights of a darkened house and have nobody waiting to hear about your day or eat dinner with you or argue about which show to watch or help clear the table. She wouldn’t tell Jack how sad it sounded to her. Upstairs, she could hear an electric saw.

“I’ll be sorry if you and Walker don’t get back together,” she finally said.

“Oh, I’m sure I’ll go running and crying back to his capable meaty arms soon enough. But I doubt he’ll have me.”

Just then, Walt and the girls came into the kitchen. “Look!” Nora said. She had a piece of woodwork in her hand. Melody recognized it immediately. It was from the upstairs hall closet, the piece of wood where she’d recorded the girls’ heights at least once a year: red for Nora; blue for Louisa. “This is the first thing I asked for,” Nora said.

“You did?” Melody was pleased that Nora thought to take it because Louisa had always been the more sentimental of the two. “What a perfect idea.”

“We started a list,” Walt said. “Look it over and see if you agree.” Someone above them was hammering; the kitchen light fixture swayed a little.

Melody looked at the list. It was extensive. She couldn’t imagine all those things—floorboards, windows, banisters, molding—sitting in Jack’s storage space gathering dust. A house but not quite; bits of a building that didn’t add up to a home.

“I don’t want to keep anything,” Melody said.

The room went quiet. “Funny,” Walt said, laughing and then stopping when he saw that Melody was serious.

“I want that.” Melody pointed to the piece of wood in Nora’s hand, marking the years they’d lived there and how much the girls had grown; it was covered with fingerprints and gray with grime because she’d never cleaned that bit, afraid of accidentally smearing or erasing the carefully drawn lines with dates next to them. “That’s the only thing I want.”

Jack was watching Melody carefully. “I don’t mind storing things for you,” he said.

“I know,” Melody said. “Let’s get anything out of here you think is worth money and sell it.”

“Melody,” Walt said, frustrated, “I’m confused.”

“I’m so grateful to you both for thinking of this. Please don’t think I’m not grateful. But— Let’s sell it. Use the money to fix up our new place.”