Chapter 2: No Place Left for Margaret

Nora stood.

"Mrs. Bennett, about the money-"

"Do not call me Mrs. Bennett like we are friends." I looked at her. "What do you call him? Harold? Honey?"

Color rose in her face for the first time.

"Go," I said.

She looked at Harold. Harold did not look at her.

She picked up a cloth bag from the couch, changed shoes, and left.

When the door closed, Harold folded into the sofa as if someone had cut the strings in his back.

"Margaret, listen to me."

"No."

I put the beef, the chicken, and the cigarettes back into the bag.

"I'm taking these."

"Where are you going?"

"A hotel."

"At Christmas? Don't be ridiculous."

"There is no place for me here. The lock is changed. The toothbrushes are changed. The sheets are changed. Even the dishes are for two people."

"I'll make you a new key tomorrow."

"Harold." I stood in the doorway and looked back at him. "You did not change a lock. You changed wives."

His mouth opened.

"Tomorrow morning at nine, be here. Have the marriage certificate and the deed ready."

"What do you mean?"

"You know what I mean."

I left.

In the elevator, my hands shook.

Not from anger.

From cold. A cold that started under my ribs and spread outward.

I had married Harold at twenty-one. I had given birth to Daniel. I had taken care of Harold's parents until they died. I had been laid off, sold socks at a night market, cleaned offices, earned a teaching certificate, taught for thirty-five years, paid the mortgage, and raised our son.

He said he was lonely while I was in Seattle.

He had not been lonely.

The snow was heavier outside. It landed on my hair and on the bag in my hand.

When I passed the sixth-floor entrance, I saw Nora standing under the awning.

She had not gone inside.

She was waiting to see me leave.

I stopped.

"How old are you?"

"Fifty-two."

"When did your husband die?"

"Five years ago."

"Do you have a pension?"

"No. I never had a steady job."

I understood then.

"Life is hard."

It was not a question.

Nora said nothing.

"But the man you chose has a wife."

"I know."

"You saw no problem with that?"

She looked at me under the yellow light.

"The problem is him, not me."

"You're right," I said.

Then I walked away.

I checked into a motel three blocks from the station. The room cost one hundred thirty-eight dollars. I put the beef and chicken on the desk, sat on the edge of the bed, and stared at the wall for ten minutes.

Daniel called.

"Mom, did you get home? Did Dad get his surprise?"

"I got there. Your father is fine."

"Good. Tell him we'll arrive on New Year's Eve."

"All right."

"Mom, your voice sounds strange. Are you sick?"

"Just the train air."

After I hung up, I turned off the phone.

That night I barely slept.

I was not thinking about Harold in bed with another woman. I was thinking through the thirty-nine years behind me and asking where I had walked past the sign that said stop.

At dawn I washed my face, combed my hair, and put on clean clothes. Before I left the motel, I sent a message to Jacob Reed.

Jacob had been in my class in 1992. Now he was a partner at Reed & Klein.

Jacob, this is Ms. Wells. I need help with a divorce and property matter. Can you meet me at my apartment at nine?

He answered in three minutes.

Of course, Ms. Wells. I'll be there.