I packed away an entire lifetime into fourteen boxes.
The last thing I took down was the sign.
EVERY HOUSE NEEDS A PORCH FOR THE SECOND CUP.
I wrapped it in a bath towel.
I put it in the back seat of my Buick. Next to Harold’s blue mug, wrapped in newspaper.
I drove to Scottsdale.
Renee put the sign in the garage.
“We don’t have a porch, Margaret,” she said. Kindly. “There’s nowhere to hang it. I’ll keep it safe in here.”
She put it on a metal shelf. Between a box of Christmas decorations and a case of bottled water.
At first, they treated me like a guest.
Renee made up the casita with new sheets. Daniel put a little TV on the dresser. Chloe made me a welcome sign out of construction paper and taped it to the door. WELCOME HOME GRANDMA!!! With glitter.
They took me to dinner at a nice restaurant the first Saturday. Daniel ordered wine. Renee asked me about Harold. The kids drew pictures on the paper tablecloth.
I cried in the bathroom afterward.
Good tears.
Then life settled into a routine.
And slowly, I became useful.
It started small.
Renee worked twelve-hour shifts at the hospital. Daniel worked late. The kids got out of school at three.
“Margaret,” Renee said, the second week. “Would you mind picking up the kids from school on Tuesday? I’ve got a late meeting.”
“Of course.”
Then Thursday.
Then every day.
“Margaret, would you mind making dinner tonight? I’m exhausted.”
“Of course.”
Then three nights a week.
Then four.
“Margaret, would you mind driving Caleb to soccer? Daniel’s got a client dinner.”
“Of course.”
Soccer was Monday and Wednesday. Chloe’s piano lessons were Tuesday. Caleb’s tutoring was Thursday. Chloe’s swim team was Saturday mornings at six.
