I studied my sister.
For years, she’d lived according to what Mom wanted.
Now she was making a decision for herself.
I smiled.
“Then we’ll help you move.”
She looked surprised.
“Really?”
I nodded.
“Of course.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she laughed.
“I guess I should ask whether you charge for moving services.”
I smiled.
“Only if you need gutters.”
She laughed harder.
For a moment, the office felt lighter.
The next day, Uncle LaVern drove from Sparta to visit my parents.
I wasn’t there.
I learned what happened from Erica afterward.
LaVern arrived carrying a manila folder.
Inside were records from Grandma’s years at Maple Ridge.
Statements.
Care expenses.
Payments from her savings.
The proceeds from selling her house in town.
He sat at my parents’ kitchen table and laid the papers in front of Mom.
Then he explained where the money had gone.
Not into secret accounts.
Not into gifts for favored relatives.
Not into anything extravagant.
It had paid for Grandma’s care.
Month after month.
Until the savings were gone.
Mom turned the pages slowly.
LaVern reminded her of the afternoon Grandma refused the forty-thousand-dollar request.
“She told you she’d need it, Sandra.”
Mom didn’t answer.
He continued.
“She wasn’t trying to keep anything from you. She was making sure she could pay for her own care.”
For a long time, Mom simply stared at the figures.
Then Dad turned off the television.
That detail stayed with me.
Carey Larson almost never turned off the television during a family disagreement.
He usually sat quietly until everyone finished talking.
But this time, he stood.
Walked into the kitchen.
Looked at the folder.
And said, “We should have gone, Sandra.”
Just four words.
But Erica told me Mom looked at him as though she’d never heard him speak that way.
Dad continued.
“We should have gone to the funeral.”
Then he walked toward the garage.
LaVern stayed long enough to make sure Mom understood the records.
Afterward, he returned to Sparta.
I didn’t hear from Mom that evening.
Or the next day.
I wanted to believe she’d call.
I wanted to hear her say Grandma had been right.
That she should have visited.
That she regretted asking me to choose sides.
But the telephone stayed quiet.
Eventually, LaVern told me Mom had stopped bringing coconut cake to church potlucks.
The next time there was a gathering, she brought store-bought cookies.
I didn’t know what that meant.
Perhaps she’d finally understood that the recipe belonged to a woman she’d spent years refusing to acknowledge.
Perhaps she simply didn’t want people discussing it.
I didn’t ask.
Some things can’t be fixed by demanding an explanation.
They have to be faced by the person who made the choice.
Erica moved into her apartment at the end of the month.
Paula lived in the same building, two floors below.
She’d already introduced Erica to the manager and helped her understand the lease.
The apartment was small.
One bedroom.
A compact kitchen.
A living room with a window overlooking the parking area.
But it was clean and affordable.
More importantly, it was hers.
Gundy brought the box van.
Kevin helped carry furniture.
I drove the pickup.
Nina arrived with cleaning supplies and a little basket containing coffee, dish towels, and a candle.
Erica stood in the doorway holding her keys.
For a moment, she looked overwhelmed.
Then she smiled.
“I can’t believe this is mine.”
I nodded.
“Good feeling, isn’t it?”
She laughed.
“Yeah.”
We moved her belongings in less than an hour.
There weren’t many.
Two suitcases.
A few boxes.
A lamp.
A small dresser.
And an old poster she’d taken from her childhood bedroom.
Gundy held it up.
“Where do you want this?”
Erica looked embarrassed.
Then laughed.
“Closet door.”
He nodded solemnly.
“Excellent choice.”
He hung it carefully.
Kevin adjusted the frame of her bed.
Paula brought over a set of spare dishes.
By evening, the apartment was ready.
Erica stood in the kitchen with tears in her eyes.
Then she hugged me.
It surprised us both.
For a moment, I didn’t know what to do with my hands.
Then I hugged her back.
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said.
She held on a little longer.
“So am I.”
Business remained busy through winter.
The thirty-one estimate requests didn’t all become jobs.
Some homeowners decided to wait.
Others only needed small repairs.
A few were too far from our service area.
But enough became actual customers that our winter schedule filled steadily.
We hired carefully.
Trained new workers.
And eventually expanded to a fourth crew.
I didn’t want growth that came at the expense of quality.
Grandma would’ve had plenty to say about that.
A little more money didn’t mean much if your gutters stopped working after the first storm.
Gundy complained that I was becoming even more particular.
Kevin said nothing.
But every time I checked a finished downspout, I noticed he’d already tested it.
One afternoon, I found the one beside our office door running perfectly.
It had been making a strange sound for weeks.
Somebody had fixed it without telling me.
I asked Gundy.
He shrugged.
“Could’ve been anybody.”
I asked Kevin.