The next morning, I woke before Gavin.
I lay still for a few minutes, listening to the house.
The heating system clicked on.
A pipe knocked somewhere behind the bathroom wall.
From upstairs came the soft scrape of a drawer closing.
Brenda was awake, too.
I had learned that much about her already. She liked to move around the house before anyone else could question what she was doing.
I got out of bed and put on my slippers.
Gavin's side of the bed was empty.
His pillow had been pushed against the headboard, and his silver watch sat on the nightstand.
I looked at it longer than I needed to.
That little watch had become a warning to me. Whenever Gavin adjusted its strap, I knew he was preparing to tell me something I was not supposed to argue with.
I went downstairs.
The lavender bathrobe was no longer hanging behind the bathroom door.
I found it folded over the arm of the living room sofa.
One sleeve nearly touched the floor.
I picked it up and carried it upstairs to my bedroom.
I folded it carefully and put it away.
It was only a bathrobe.
I kept telling myself that.
But I had bought it for myself, and I had worn it through quiet mornings when the house still felt like mine.
Now I could not even leave it in the bathroom without wondering who might decide to use it.
When I returned to the kitchen, Brenda was standing beside the counter.
She had already made coffee.
She was wearing a gray sweater and dark trousers, and her hair was brushed neatly away from her face.
"You're up early," she said.
"So are you."
"I never sleep well in an unfamiliar place."
She glanced toward the ceiling.
"These old houses make so many noises."
I took a mug from the cupboard.
"This house has always been quiet enough for me."
Brenda gave me a small smile.
"I suppose you're used to it."
I poured my coffee.
She had placed her handbag on the kitchen table, directly beside the stack of mail I had left there the previous afternoon.
The yellow tax assessment notice was still underneath my hand when I had sorted the envelopes.
Now it was partly covered by her handbag.
I moved the bag aside so I could reach the notice.
Brenda watched me.
"Is that something important?"
"It's a property tax notice."
"Oh."
She looked around the kitchen.
"I didn't realize the house was so expensive to keep."
"It's manageable."
"That must be nice."
I could not tell whether she meant the house or my pension.
I folded the notice once and slipped it into the envelope.
Brenda lifted her mug.
"Gavin says you worry about money."
I looked at her.
"He says that?"
"He worries about you worrying."
I almost laughed.
There was something strange about hearing Gavin's mother describe him as a concerned husband when I had spent the previous evening trying to explain that I did not feel respected in my own home.
"What exactly has he told you?" I asked.
Brenda lowered her mug.
"Only that you have strong opinions about the house."
"It's my house."
Her expression changed slightly.
Not much.
Just enough for me to notice.
"Well, of course, you live here."
I stared at her.
"Living here and owning it are two different things."
"I didn't mean anything by it."
She turned toward the sink and rinsed her mug.
I wanted to ask why she had arrived with two suitcases without anyone discussing it with me.
I wanted to ask why she had put on my robe.
I wanted to ask why she spoke as though my home were a place she had been invited to manage.
Instead, I drank my coffee.
I had become very good at swallowing questions.
A few minutes later, Gavin came downstairs.
He was dressed for work, with his shirt tucked neatly into his trousers.
He picked up his watch and fastened it around his wrist.
Then he adjusted the strap twice.
The sharp little clicks sounded across the kitchen.
"Morning," he said.
I nodded.
He looked at the coffee pot.
"Is there any left?"
"Yes."
He poured himself a cup and stood beside Brenda.
She touched his arm.
"I was just telling Claire how lovely the house is."
Gavin glanced at me.
"Good."
Brenda smiled at him.
"She has kept it very well."
I waited for him to acknowledge that I had spent years maintaining the property.
He did not.
He took a drink of coffee and checked his phone.
"I'll be late tonight," he said.
"How late?"
"I don't know yet."
"Will you call?"
He looked up.
"Why?"
"So I know whether to wait for dinner."
"You don't need to wait for me."
"I know that."
"Then don't."
Brenda stared into her mug.
I felt my face grow warm.
Gavin set his cup in the sink.
"I'm not having another argument about the house today."
"I wasn't trying to start one."
"Good."
He picked up his keys.
Then he leaned toward Brenda and kissed her cheek.
"I'll see you tonight, Mom."
"Drive safely."
He left without saying goodbye to me.
The front door shut.
I stood at the kitchen counter, listening to his car start in the driveway.
Brenda carried her mug to the sink.
"You two have been under a lot of strain," she said.
I looked at her.
"Because you moved into my house?"
Her mouth tightened.
"I didn't ask to be a problem."
"I didn't say you were a problem."
"You didn't have to."
She dried her hands on a towel.
Then she left the kitchen.
I heard her footsteps cross the hall and begin climbing the stairs.
I waited until the sound disappeared.
After that, I took the tax notice and carried it to my desk.
The desk stood in the small room off the hallway, where I kept household papers, old photographs, and the things I did not want to lose.
I opened the drawer where I kept the deed to 1420 Maple Avenue.
The folder was exactly where I had left it.
I removed the deed and checked the first page.
My name appeared clearly.
The property had been left to me by my late Aunt Madeline eight years earlier.
There was no mortgage listed on the paperwork I kept at home.
I had paid the taxes every year.
I had paid for repairs, replaced worn fixtures, and arranged for the driveway to be cleared whenever snow covered it.
I had never considered those things sacrifices.
It was my home.
Taking care of it was part of living there.
But now I found myself reviewing every piece of paper as though someone might challenge the fact that I belonged in the house.
I placed the deed back inside its folder.
Then I took a clean envelope from the drawer.
On the front, I wrote PROPERTY RECORDS.
I put the yellow tax assessment notice inside.
Next, I added the most recent tax receipt I could find.
I checked the date on the receipt twice.
Then I returned to the drawer and looked for the earlier receipts.
They were in a small stack held together by a rubber band.
I removed the band and arranged the papers by year.
The oldest receipt had begun to fade around the edges.
I smoothed it against the desk.
The amount was still readable.
I placed it behind the newer receipt.
I did the same with the others.
The work was ordinary and slow.
It gave my hands something to do while my thoughts moved in circles.
When I finished, I slid the papers into the envelope and placed it inside the desk drawer.
Then I checked the deed folder once more.
I did not know whether I would need to show those documents to anyone.
I only knew I wanted them together.
Before closing the drawer, I looked toward the hallway.
The house was quiet again.
I could hear Brenda opening and closing something upstairs.
A drawer.
Then another.
I shut the desk drawer gently.
For the first time since she had arrived, I made a decision without asking myself whether Gavin would approve.
I would keep my records where I could find them.
I would stop leaving important papers mixed in with ordinary mail.
And I would not pretend that the way I was being treated felt normal.
I could not yet decide what I would say to Gavin.
But I could at least stop making it easier for him to tell me I was imagining things.
Click here to continue reading: PART 10: Brenda Began Treating the Upstairs Rooms Like They Were Hers While I Tried to Keep My Own Routine
My Husband Brought His Mother Home Without Asking, and I Realized the House I Owned Might No Longer Feel Like Mine
Part 9 of 20
