Then he looked away.
There were little moments like that.
Moments when I felt as though Richard was hiding something.
Once, I mentioned the shelter where I had grown up.
He froze.
Another time, I told him about the nickname someone had given me as a child.
“The stray kitten.”
Richard’s face changed.
“What did you say?”
I laughed.
“It’s nothing.”
But he didn’t laugh.
“Who called you that?”
“I don’t remember.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“I see.”
I didn’t understand.
I didn’t know that Richard remembered.
He remembered everything.
Then my landlord called again.
“You need to move out.”
I begged him.
“I have a job now.”
“You’re still behind.”
“I just need more time.”
“You’ve had more time.”
“My husband died.”
There was silence.
Then he said,
“I understand, Nora. But I have bills too.”
When the call ended, I stood in the pantry with my phone pressed against my chest.
I didn’t cry.
I’d already cried enough.
I just stood there.
Then I heard a floorboard creak behind me.
I turned.
Nobody was there.
I opened the pantry door.
The hallway was empty.
I told myself it was nothing.
But somewhere in the house, someone had heard that conversation.
Someone who would remember it.
Someone who had already begun making plans.
A few weeks later, the estate looked different.
Fresh flowers.
Candles.
Soft music.
I walked into the kitchen and frowned.
“Is there a party?”
“No.”
I turned.
Richard stood in the doorway.
He was wearing a dark suit.
He looked nervous.
I’d never seen Richard nervous before.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t look all right.”
He smiled.
“Come with me.”
He led me to the study.
One afternoon, I walked into the living room and stopped.
Richard was on his hands and knees.
Emily was sitting on his back.
“Faster!” she shouted.
Richard looked at me.
“Nora, your daughter is trying to kill me.”
Emily giggled.
“You’re a horse!”
“I was a respectable businessman before you came here.”
“Horse!”
Richard sighed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
I couldn’t stop laughing.
Another afternoon, I found him sitting at Emily’s tiny table drinking imaginary tea.
She handed him a plastic cup.
“Sugar?”
“Two.”
“Milk?”
“A little.”
She pretended to pour.
Richard took a sip.
“Excellent.”
Then Emily looked at me.
“Mommy, Richard is funny.”
