Eventually, Allison told me the house deserved to be lived in again.
She was right.
I placed a small rental sign in the yard.
Eight hundred fifty dollars a month.
Less than comparable houses nearby, but enough to cover maintenance and expenses.
Four days later, my phone rang.
A woman’s voice asked about the rental.
I recognized her immediately.
My mother.
She said she and her husband were returning from Florida.
They’d been staying in a motel while looking for something affordable.
They wanted to come back to Maple Avenue because it was the only neighborhood where they’d ever felt truly at home.
I almost ended the call.
Instead, I heard myself arranging a showing.
When I hung up, Allison found me standing on the deck with the phone in my hand.
“Who was that?”
I looked at her.
“My mother.”
She went still.
“What did she want?”
“To rent Thelma’s house.”
Allison studied my face.
“Does she know it’s yours?”
“No.”
She came closer.
“Aaron, are you sure you want to do this?”
I looked toward the darkening yard.
I had spent twenty years wondering what I’d say if my mother ever stood in front of me again.
Now I had the chance to find out.
“I’m going to show her the house,” I said. “Then I’ll decide what happens next.”
Allison touched my arm.
“Just remember you don’t owe her a home because she gave birth to you.”
I nodded.
But I didn’t yet know whether I believed it.
When my parents arrived for the showing, I barely recognized them at first.
Mom wore sunglasses pushed into her hair and carried an oversized handbag.
Dad moved more slowly than I remembered, his shoulders rounded and his hair almost entirely gray.
But their voices were unmistakable.
Mom stepped onto Thelma’s porch.
“Oh, Tom. Look at this place.”
She looked toward our old house next door.
“You can still see right into the old kitchen.”
Dad glanced at me.
For a moment, his eyes narrowed.
Then he looked away.
I invited them inside.
Mom walked through the kitchen, touching the counters and admiring the restored floor.
She talked about Florida.
Rising insurance costs.
Medical expenses.
A rental they could no longer afford.
She said they’d been planning to return to Illinois for years.
I listened.
She told me they had raised their children on this street.
Children.
Plural.
I wondered whether she heard herself.
Dad remained mostly silent.
When we finished the tour, we sat at Thelma’s table to review the application.
That was when Mom told me she had only one child.
Miranda.
No sons.
No grandchildren.
Just one daughter living in Arizona.
I wrote it down.
Then I asked about the rest of the household.
Two adults.
No pets.
Retirement income.
Previous address.
Rental references.
Their finances were uncertain, and Dad admitted their credit had suffered during the move.
I explained the rental terms clearly.
First month’s rent.
Security deposit.
Standard screening.
Maintenance responsibilities.
Mom nodded along until we reached the amount.
“Eight hundred fifty dollars?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pursed her lips.
“That seems high for such an old house.”
“It’s below similar rentals in the neighborhood.”
She glanced around.
Then she smiled.
“Well, we’ll see what can be worked out.”
I kept my expression neutral.
I asked whether they knew anyone still living on the street.
Mom brightened.
“Oh, we knew everyone. The woman who lived here was especially close to us.”
My father closed his eyes.
I looked at her.
“Thelma Rusk?”
“Yes. Lovely woman. Always feeding the neighborhood children.”
I felt my pulse quicken.
“She was close to your family?”
“Very.”
Mom smiled.
“Almost like a second mother to everybody.”
I stared at her.
For twenty years, she’d never spoken Thelma’s name.
Now she was claiming a closeness that had never existed.
I looked toward the hallway.
Then I stood.
“There’s something I’d like to show you.”
I walked to the closet.
Moved Thelma’s old winter coat.
Lifted Elroy’s railroad lantern aside.
And took out the cardboard box.
The tape had yellowed with age.
The writing was still clear.
THELMA’S.
I carried it to the kitchen.
Placed it on the table between us.
Then I sat down.
Mom looked at the box.
Her expression changed slightly.