Agnes's Arc

Chapter 8 of 10

Agnes stood in her retirement suite on Sunday afternoon and measured the floor with her eyes. A single armchair. A narrow bed. A kitchenette the size of a closet. She had chosen the place because it was tidy and cheap and close to nothing that would trouble her. She had not chosen it for a baby. Melissa sat on the edge of the bed with one hand on her stomach. Tom stood by the window because there was nowhere else to stand. "There's no room for a crib," Melissa said. She said it lightly, the way she said things she meant. "There isn't," Agnes said. "I'll bring her by when she's small. After that it gets harder." Agnes heard the shape of it. Visits shrinking. A grandchild she would see in photographs and on holidays. She had spent a lifetime planning around losses. She could plan around this one too. She began to. Tom cleared his throat. "Come home," he said. Agnes turned. "To the house," Tom said. "Your things are still in the closet. I never moved them." "We agreed I would live here." "We agreed when the math looked different. It looks different now." He took his hands out of his pockets. "You're at the house six days a week. You sleep here. That's the only line left. Erase it." Agnes looked at him. The man who had spent forty years across a breakfast table from her without saying much of anything was standing in a rented room asking her to come back. "The baby needs a room," Tom said. "We have four." Melissa's eyes filled. She did not speak. Agnes walked to the small closet and opened it. Two coats. A suitcase she had never fully unpacked. She had told herself the suite was independence. She saw now it had been a held breath. "I'll give notice tomorrow," she said. Tom nodded once. He did not smile. He looked at the floor a moment, then at her. "Thank you." "Don't thank me. It's practical." "It's both," he said. Melissa laughed and wiped her face with the heel of her hand. "The yellow room," she said. "For the crib. It gets the morning sun." "The yellow room," Agnes agreed. They drove back together in Tom's car. Agnes watched the retirement building shrink in the side mirror — the warm facade, the striped awnings, the potted shrubs by the door. A good place for someone else. At the house, Tom unlocked the front gate and held it for her. She stepped through onto the stone path she had walked away from two years ago and had not admitted missing. Inside, the hallway smelled the same. Her coats still hung on the hook by the door. She hung her purse beside them. "I'll need to sort the yellow room by month's end," she said. "Before she starts showing." "I'll help," Tom said. She believed him.