Chapter 3
I zoomed in on the booking screenshot.
The delivery address was my house.
The inventory listed a bed, a five-drawer dresser, and twelve boxes.
The delivery window was Thursday, between nine and eleven in the morning.
By then, Mark and Amy would already be at sea.
I sat in the car until the screen went dark, then woke my phone and called Mark.
He answered almost immediately.
"Where are you? We're about to order takeout."
"Why is Amy's bed being delivered here?"
His end of the line went quiet.
I heard Diane ask something, followed by the scrape of a chair.
"Her lease is almost up," Mark said. "I thought she could stay here for a while."
"In which room?"
"The one upstairs."
"My office?"
"It was a bedroom before."
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel.
"When did you agree to this?"
"Three weeks ago. Claire, can we talk when you get back?"
Three weeks ago, he'd helped me carry my desk upstairs.
The desktop was so heavy we'd stopped for a break on the landing.
He'd even asked whether putting it by the window would leave the computer in direct sunlight.
"We were setting up my office then. Why didn't you say anything?"
"Nothing was definite yet."
"So once you agreed, you didn't need to tell me?"
He let out a breath.
"She was looking at other places too. I didn't see the point in arguing with you over something that might not even happen."
I hung up.
The takeout hadn't arrived when I went back inside.
Amy's suitcase was closed now, and Diane sat at the dining table looking at her phone.
Mark came toward me.
"Look, now we can—"
I walked past him and went straight upstairs.
The door to our son's old room was open.
My desk stood by the window, the monitor hooked up, my folders beside it, sorted by client.
Next month's work schedule was pinned to the wall, with a new client's name written on the first day.
Amy followed me to the doorway.
"The bed can go where the old one was. If you want to keep that cabinet, I can use it too."
I turned around.
"When did you come in here to look at the room?"
She hesitated.
"Last week. You weren't home."
I looked at Mark, who had come upstairs behind her.
"You showed her?"
"We were just checking the space."
"You saw all of this." I pointed at the desk. "You knew I worked in here."
"The desk can go in the dining room," he said. "You used to work there, didn't you?"
"I used to take on occasional jobs. Now I have scheduled video calls with clients, and I need somewhere to keep their files."
"No one's home during the day anyway."
"Can you guarantee no one will come over?"
Amy's expression darkened.
"I'll be out looking for work too. I won't be bothering you all day."
"My point is, this room isn't empty."
Diane slowly climbed the last few steps, holding on to the railing.
"She's just had to leave her own home. She needs somewhere she can close the door. Working downstairs won't hurt you."
I looked at her.
"What about when I need quiet and a closed door to work?"
"Can't the two of you work out a way to share?"
"But I'm a light sleeper," Amy said immediately. "And I sleep late."
No one answered that.
I nodded.
"So we wouldn't be sharing. I'd be giving up my office."
"It's only for a few months," Mark said.
"Am I supposed to stop working for those few months?"
"Just until she gets settled."
"But this is my home. You made all these decisions without telling me."
He didn't answer.
Amy handed him her phone. "The movers need to know whether the bed can be taken apart and reassembled."
Mark looked down at the screen.
A few seconds later, my phone chimed.
He'd forwarded me a checklist.
Take apart the desk.
Pack up the work files and put them in the garage for now.
Empty the closet.
Be home for the furniture delivery on Thursday.
I scrolled down to the last line.
Make the bed. Amy will bring her own sheets.
I looked up at Mark.
"Is all of this for me?"
"You'll be home that week, won't you? Some of it you could just—"
"I have to pack away my own things, and then make her bed too?"