Chapter 9 - Moving Day
Grace hired the cheapest movers with good reviews.
That sentence would have horrified Vincent.
She told him so.
He stood in the diner doorway holding coffee.
“Why would that horrify me?”
“Because you would have opinions about insurance.”
“I do have opinions about insurance.”
“Exactly.”
Emily ate toast at the counter.
Daniel was coming at ten to help tape boxes.
Not carry furniture.
Not direct the move.
Tape boxes.
Grace had made the job deliberately small.
He arrived at 9:56 with two rolls of tape and no additional people.
Vincent noticed.
Daniel noticed Vincent noticing.
Grace noticed both.
“Good morning,” she said before either man could turn coffee into territory.
Daniel held up the tape.
“I brought the kind you asked for.”
Grace nodded.
“Kitchen first.”
Vincent stepped aside.
“I’m leaving.”
Emily looked up.
“You don’t have to.”
Vincent looked at Grace.
Grace said nothing.
Vincent smiled at Emily.
“I have work.”
“Real work?”
“Occasionally.”
Emily grinned.
Daniel did not.
Vincent left anyway.
That helped.
The old apartment filled with cardboard.
Every box forced Grace to decide what belonged to the life they were taking and what belonged to one they were done carrying.
A cracked lamp went.
A stack of old magazines went.
Three chipped mugs stayed because Emily insisted they were “family mugs.”
Daniel found a shoebox on the top shelf of Grace’s closet.
He opened it before asking.
Grace saw his face.
Inside were photographs.
Not many.
Grace had thrown away most of the pictures after the first year.
These survived because she had forgotten where she put them.
Daniel lifted one.
Him and Grace at a lake.
Twenty-three.
Sunburned.
Stupidly happy.
“I remember this.”
Grace took the picture from him.
“You shouldn’t open boxes that aren’t yours.”
He set the lid down.
“Sorry.”
She almost threw the photograph away.
Then Emily appeared.
“Who’s that?”
Daniel laughed.
Grace closed her eyes.
“You.”
Daniel pointed at himself.
“Apparently with terrible hair.”
Emily snatched the picture.
“Mom, you’re wearing overalls.”
“I was young.”
“That’s not an excuse.”
Daniel leaned against the wall and laughed harder.
For one minute, the three of them stood in a room half-packed into boxes and shared something that had existed before fear.
It did not fix anything.
Grace let the minute happen anyway.
At noon, Daniel ordered pizza.
He asked first.
Progress.
At one, the movers arrived.
At one-fifteen, one mover told Grace the truck was smaller than the estimate.
At one-twenty, Grace stood on the sidewalk counting boxes and trying not to swear.
Daniel said, “I can call another truck.”
“No.”
“Grace.”
“I can solve a truck.”
“I am offering a truck, not a building.”
She looked at him.
He had a point.
That irritated her.
“Fine. Call.”
Daniel did.
Not his company.
Not a friend who owed him something.
A commercial mover with an afternoon opening.
He paid the extra fee.
Grace started to object.
Then stopped.
This was not a gift.
It was part of moving his daughter.
“Half,” she said.
Daniel shook his head.
“Grace.”
“Half.”
He looked at her.
Then nodded.
“Half.”
The new apartment smelled like paint and dust.
Emily ran to the west-facing bedroom.
“Purple wall!”
The landlord had approved one painted wall if they restored it before moving out.
Grace had bought the paint herself.
Daniel carried in one box labeled EMILY - BOOKS and set it down.
He looked around.
“This is nice.”
Grace heard what he did not say.
Smaller than the apartment he could buy.
Older than the place he would choose.
But nice.
“Thank you.”
Emily came out.
“Dad.”
Daniel went completely still every time she used the word.
It was only the third time.
“Yeah?”
“Can you help me paint?”
Grace looked at Daniel.
He looked at her.
She said, “One wall.”
Daniel smiled.
“One wall.”
They painted badly.
Purple ended up on the baseboard, on Daniel’s shoe, and in a streak across Emily’s forearm.
Grace took pictures.
That surprised her.
Not because she wanted to document Daniel.
Because Emily would.
At six, Daniel left.
He did not ask to stay for dinner.
He did not ask for a tour of Grace’s bedroom.
He did not ask for a key.
Grace noticed all three things.
The first night in the apartment, Emily slept on a mattress on the floor because the bed frame was still in pieces.
Grace sat beside her.
“Do you like it?”
Emily looked at the purple wall.
“Yes.”
“Scared?”
“A little.”
“Me too.”
Emily turned.
“Adults get scared moving?”
“Adults get scared doing almost everything.”
Emily smiled.
“Mr. Romano doesn’t.”
Grace thought of the cold coffee.
The school sidewalk.
The look on Vincent’s face when Grace had told him protection was not permission.
“Yes, he does.”
“How do you know?”
“He just hides it better.”
Emily pulled the blanket higher.
“Dad hides it bad.”
“That’s true.”
The next morning, someone knocked.
Grace’s entire body tightened.
That reaction made her furious.
She looked through the peephole.
Vincent stood alone.
No Marco.
No Luis.
He held a paper bag.
Grace opened the door halfway.
“How did you get my address?”
Vincent sighed.
“Emily told Martha.”
Grace stared.
“Martha told you?”
“No. Emily told me yesterday.”
Grace thought back.
Diner.
Toast.
She had missed it.
Vincent held up the bag.
“Bagels.”
“That is not a reason to appear.”
“I know.”
“Then why are you here?”
He glanced past her at the boxes.
“Because moving is awful.”
Grace almost laughed.
“That’s your defense?”
“I can leave.”
She looked at the bag.
Then at him.
“Five minutes.”
Vincent entered.
He stopped on the mat.
“Shoes?”
Grace blinked.
“What?”
“Shoes off?”
“No.”
He looked relieved.
Emily ran out.
“Mr. Romano!”
She showed him the purple wall.
Vincent examined it seriously.
“Terrible workmanship.”
Emily gasped.
“I did it!”
“That explains it.”
She threw a balled sock at him.
Vincent caught it.
Grace watched.
No offers.
No contractors.
No questions about rent.
He ate one bagel standing at the kitchen counter.
Then he left.
After the door closed, Emily said, “He didn’t fix anything.”
Grace smiled.
“No.”
“Was he supposed to?”
“No.”
Emily looked confused.
May you like
Grace picked up the paper bag.
“That was the point.”
