Edith called at ten on Sunday morning from the market. Nora could hear a vendor describing peaches as if he had invented them. “I’ve made it here by myself,” Edith said. “The shuttle came early. I had to make the driver wait while I found my purse, and he behaved like a civilized person.”
“You knew where the purse was.”
“I knew where I wanted it to be.” Edith lowered her voice. “There’s a stall selling old postcards. One shows the bridge from the library talk. You may come inspect it over tea at two if you wish. That is an invitation, not a summons.”
Nora had laundry to fold, a shift at ten, and a novel she’d been trying to finish for three weeks. She wanted to see the postcard. “I’ll be there at two.”
Lucy was in the kitchen with an email from Ryan open on Nora’s laptop. She had not read it yet; the notification had arrived while she was cutting bread. “He answered,” she said. “Can you sit here while I open it? You don’t have to read over my shoulder.”
Nora sat at the other end of the table. Lucy clicked the message and read without speaking. Halfway through, she made a face and went back to the beginning. Nora did not ask what was wrong. She finished slicing the bread and put the knife aside.
“He didn’t give me a speech,” Lucy said finally. “He said last Tuesday he didn’t want to go to the meeting because he was tired and annoyed about an argument at work. He sat in his car outside the building for six minutes. Then he called a man named Luis who had driven him there when his own car broke down last winter. Luis told him to come in and be annoyed inside. He went, stayed, and didn’t say anything at the meeting.”
“Does that answer what you asked?”
“It does. I didn’t know you could go and be annoyed.” Lucy read another sentence. “He wrote, ‘I was still cross when I left. I wasn’t alone with it.’ That’s all.”
Nora liked the plainness of that. Ryan had not turned reluctance into a triumphant change of heart. Lucy asked whether he might have gone home if Luis hadn’t answered. Nora said she did not know. Lucy typed a thank-you for the specific answer, then left the draft on the screen.
“He asked if I’d want to see him on video for a few minutes,” she said. “He wrote it under his answer, not instead of it.”
“What do you think?”
“Maybe Wednesday after school. Fifteen minutes. Imani has rehearsal, so I won’t miss anything.”
“We can make it fifteen. You can end it sooner.”
“I know. You keep telling me that.” Lucy was not angry, but Nora heard the fatigue in it. “I want to know if he sounds like the letter. That’s a reason, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” Nora did not add another condition. Lucy wrote Wednesday at four, fifteen minutes, Nora nearby but off camera unless asked. Ryan replied an hour later that he could do that. Lucy looked at the reply once and shut the laptop. She then asked what they needed for the rice she’d requested. Nora said onions and more patience than Lucy believed onions deserved.
Lucy opened the laptop again after breakfast, this time to test the camera. The first angle showed only the kitchen ceiling and the light fixture that had been missing a cover since winter. The second showed Lucy and the refrigerator door covered with school notices. She moved the laptop to the end of the table and tried again. Nora could see her daughter in the little square on the screen: eyes narrowed in concentration, hair tucked behind one ear, a stranger’s probable first view of her.
“I don’t want the whole house in it,” Lucy said. “But I don’t want to sit in my room either.”
“The kitchen seems good.”
“If he asks to see the medal, can I show him?”
“It’s your medal.”
Lucy made a face at the answer. “I know it’s mine. I asked whether that would be weird.”
“It might be awkward for both of you. It might also give you something to talk about when you get tired of introductions.”
“That’s a better answer.” She held the medal in front of the camera; the metal flashed white and hid half her face. She put it down. “I’ll decide on Wednesday. I don’t want to practice being delighted to meet him.”
Nora closed the laptop and put it aside before the kitchen became a rehearsal room. Lucy went outside to cut a few leaves from the mint by their back step, where Nora had taken the rooting for Edith’s gift. She came in and made tea neither of them particularly wanted, then drank it anyway.
At two Nora arrived at Edith’s with a small pot of mint from her own windowsill. Edith had already put the market postcards on the table in a straight line. She wore a navy cardigan Nora had not seen before and had the pleased, slightly tired air of someone who had navigated an outing and meant to report its best details rather than its difficulty.
“Look at the bridge,” Edith said. “The date on the back is wrong. The railings give it away.”
“You bought evidence for an argument.”
“I bought a picture. The argument was free.” Edith held up the card. “The shuttle driver waited by the curb after I asked him where he would pick me up. I wrote it down. Then I went shopping for a full hour. Nobody timed me except the return ride.”
Nora put the mint by the window. “Did you get everything?”
“I bought postcards and two peaches. I forgot the soap.”
“An excellent market trip.”
“I agree.” Edith sat down carefully. Her knee was stiff after the walk; she stretched it under the table and asked Nora to pour the tea because the kettle was heavy when full. She did not apologize for asking. Nora poured, then Edith showed her the other cards: a flood from the forties, a tram, a row of houses that had since become a parking lot. They disagreed about which scene Lucy would like best.
Paul arrived without calling at half past two. He had his own key, and Edith called for him to come in before he reached the kitchen. He stopped when he saw Nora at the table.
“I thought you were going to PT tomorrow,” he said to Edith. “Why did the dispatcher say you used the shuttle today?”
“Because I went to the market,” Edith said. “Would you like tea?”
“I asked them about Monday’s pickup. They mentioned an extra ride. You didn’t tell me you were going alone.”
“I told you I was trying the market this week.”
“You said maybe. It was crowded today. What if the driver left before you got back?” Paul looked at Nora. “Did you know she was doing this?”
Nora put down the postcard. She heard the old form of the question: if she had known, she would have prevented it, or at least taken responsibility for what might have gone wrong. She also heard fear beneath Paul’s irritation. Edith had once needed help after a fall on icy steps; Paul had been out of town that day. He did not like the image of his mother waiting alone at a curb.
“She called me from the market,” Nora said. “She sounded delighted.”
“That’s not the issue. The shuttle schedule can change without warning. You know she can’t stand that long.”
Edith set her cup down. “I sat on the bench. I called the dispatcher before the return window. I know how the service works better than you do, because I used it.”
“Mom, I work Monday. If you miss the PT ride, I can’t simply leave.”
“I haven’t missed it.”
“When you fell on the steps, you told me you were fine and then you couldn’t put weight on the knee,” Paul said. He said it to Edith, but his eyes went to Nora as if she would confirm that he was entitled to be afraid. “I got there after she did. I don’t want to find out about another fall from a dispatcher.”
Edith’s face changed. “That was winter. I waited for the ice to be cleared today. I carried my phone. I sat down when the knee hurt.”
“You shouldn’t have to calculate every curb just to buy peaches.”
“I shouldn’t have to ask you whether I may cross one.” Edith did not raise her voice. She took a peach from the paper bag and put it on the table between them. “I would call you if I fell. I didn’t fall.”
Paul turned to Nora again. “Would you please tell her I want a call before she goes somewhere like this?”
Nora looked at the postcards, then at Edith. She had wanted the rest of the afternoon here, hearing Edith build a case about the bridge. If she stayed, Paul might use her as a friendly witness until Edith was forced to argue with two people at once. “I was invited for tea,” she said. “I’m going to go. You two can discuss what information you want from each other.”
Paul’s face tightened. “You don’t have to leave.”
“I know.” That was the cost; she did not want to leave. She stood and folded her coat over her arm. “Edith, thank you for the postcard. I want to hear what the lecturer says when he sees it.”
Edith looked disappointed for an instant, then raised the card. “He may pretend he never named the date. I’ll send you his reply.”
Nora went out while Paul was still holding the offered cup of tea. She heard Edith ask him to sit rather than loom. She reached her car feeling both relieved and robbed of the hour she’d wanted. She did not sit there and listen for raised voices through the window. She drove home.
Lucy was at the table with an onion cut into pieces of wildly different sizes. “I started,” she said. “Some of them are big enough to be vegetables by themselves.”
Nora washed her hands and took the second knife. She showed Lucy how to make the pieces more even without demanding perfect cubes. They let the onions cook slowly in the pan while Lucy measured rice. Lucy asked whether the market postcard had settled the bridge argument. Nora said she hadn’t heard the verdict because Paul had arrived. She gave Lucy the simple facts of leaving, including that she had been disappointed to go.
“Edith might be annoyed with both of you,” Lucy said.
“She might. She can tell me.”
“Paul worries when people don’t do things the way he expected.” Lucy stirred the onions. “He asked if my medal had a ribbon so he could hang it in his place. I told him he could buy a hook and wait to see it.”
“Did he?”
“He sent me a picture of a hook.” Lucy grinned. “I’m not giving him the medal. I might send him a copy of the team photo.”
The rice finished in time for an early supper. Lucy declared the onions better than she’d expected, though some had gone darker than the rest. Nora ate two bowls. She could not tell whether this was how Ryan had made it thirteen years ago. It was good on its own terms, and Lucy wanted the leftovers packed for school.
Edith called just before Nora lay down for a nap. “Paul and I talked,” she said. “We were both louder than the kettle. He wants me to send him the shuttle confirmation number before I go out. I said I’d send it when it would help, not ask him to approve the trip.”
“How are you feeling?”
“Tired from the market. The peaches are excellent. I was sorry you had to go.”
“I was sorry too.”
“Come for tea next week when it’s only tea. Or come to the bridge lecture follow-up if they let me back in.”
“I’d like that.” Nora could hear Edith smiling. The friendship had lost an afternoon; it had not lost its invitation.
Sam called while Nora was getting ready for work. She had told him the day before that she would be asleep part of Sunday, and he had asked when she wanted to hear from him. She answered from the bedroom with her shoes in her hand.
“I have twenty minutes before I leave,” she said.
“I can take less. Ben asked whether I could keep June next Saturday while he handles an inspection appointment at the apartment. The time isn’t fixed yet. I wanted to cook for you Saturday evening too, if you want that.”
“I do. Can you do both?”
“Maybe. I haven’t answered Ben. I wanted to ask you before I agreed to a time that might swallow dinner.”
Nora sat on the bed. The question was practical, but she liked that he had brought it before it became a changed plan. “Tell Ben yes if you want to keep June. I want dinner with you. We’ll see what the inspection window does to Saturday.”
“I’ll confirm the hours with him and tell you. We can choose the evening when we know.”
“You may hear from me sooner than Saturday,” she said. “Lucy has a video call with Ryan on Wednesday. Fifteen minutes. She chose it.”
“How does she feel?”
“Curious. Wary. Tired of me listing exits.”
Sam gave a soft laugh. “Do you want to talk after?”
“I want you to know it’s happening. I don’t know what I’ll want after.” She noticed the clock and put on her shoes. “I also want to tell you the rice was excellent. Lucy helped make it.”
“I like hearing about a meal I didn’t cook.”
“You cooked Friday.”
“I know. I am trying to be pleased about someone else’s onions.”
“You could be pleased about me instead.” The words surprised her; she had meant to tease and had said something plainer.
“I am,” Sam said. “I was yesterday morning too, when you were eating jam at my table. I kept thinking about coming back before nine.”
“I knew where you were. I liked the note.”
“I liked writing it. I wanted you to find breakfast.”
She looked at the clock, regretting only that she was dressed for work. “If I didn’t have to leave, I’d come over and finish the card game.”
“The card game?”
“Eventually.”
She laughed before ending the call. Then she took the packed leftovers from the refrigerator and went to her Sunday shift, leaving Lucy with an exact Wednesday time and a desk still crowded by debate cards.