Eduardo's Arc

Chapter 76 of 115

Kiersten's cup stood on the shelf all week. Eduardo left it where she set it. But one full cup was not a life shared. The rest of the house still held only his things. His boots by the door. His tools on the table. His father's belt gone, but nothing of hers to take its place. She could pour tea and leave. Nothing here asked her to stay. He thought of the house as it once was. Sagging roof. Cracked walls. Boards nailed over broken windows. He had rebuilt every part of it with his own hands. That was the problem. Every board was his. He had made a house no one else could touch. When Friday came, Eduardo did not fill the shelf or the wall with something new. He waited for Kiersten at the door. She arrived with a small box under her arm. "I brought things," she said. She set the box on the table. She did not open it. Eduardo looked at the box, then at her. His hands wanted to reach for it and place everything himself. He knew that pull. He kept his hands at his sides. "Where do they go?" he asked. Kiersten studied him. "You're asking me." "It's your box." She opened it. Inside were a folded quilt, a clay bowl, a framed photo of a woman with her same auburn eyes. Her mother, he guessed. He had never seen it. Kiersten took the quilt and draped it over the back of his chair. She set the bowl on the shelf beside the two cups. She carried the photo to the wall and held it against the bare wood. "Here," she said. "Nail this here." Eduardo brought a nail and hammer. He raised it to the wall. "Wait." She put her hand flat against the spot. "Lower. My eyes, not yours." He moved the nail down. He drove it in. She hung the photo. Her mother looked out over the room now, level with Kiersten's face. Kiersten stepped back. She looked at the quilt on the chair, the bowl on the shelf, the photo on the wall. Then she looked at the boots, the tools, all his things, sitting among hers now. "It reads different," she said. "Different how?" "Like two people live here." She said it plain, not soft. "Not one man and a guest." Eduardo set the hammer down. He did not answer. He let the room hold what she had made. Kiersten poured her tea. She sat in the chair with her quilt behind her. "I'll bring more next Friday," she said. "Small things. One at a time." For the first time the house held more than one thing that was hers. Her hands had placed each one. The space no longer read as only his.