“We’re not getting back together, Mom.”
Until recently, she would have added that they were barely speaking. But that was no longer the case, as these days they were interacting quite nicely. Markie didn’t think this was the time to tell her mother, though. Lydia would only use it as an opening to push harder for their reconciliation, and Markie was never going to reunite with Kyle, even if the sight of him at the bungalow’s side door now made her smile rather than scowl.
A few days after their talk in the coffee shop, and after a number of imploring texts and phone calls from Markie, Kyle had finally agreed to come over to visit Jesse. By then, she had given some thought to his situation, and she’d had a lightbulb moment when her father mentioned over Skype how handy Kyle was. When he arrived, she greeted him with a welcoming smile and a list of repairs he and Jesse could work on: replace the broken window in the garage, change the filter on the furnace, fix the leaking hot water faucet in the upstairs bathroom. “Frédéric said he’d be happy to lend you his tools,” she told him.
While Markie reviewed files on the patio that afternoon, she could hear the sounds of wood being sawed, nails being hammered, and a father and son talking and, from time to time, laughing. When she asked Kyle about it on the phone later, he told her he had never had an easier time relating to his son as he did that day, when their hands were full of tools and their attention was on a broken window frame or a loose pipe. “Sure beats staring at each other in my matchbox of a living room,” he said.
He agreed to return the following week, and although he flaked out at the last minute, he made a point to ask for a rain check, something he had never done before. When the new date arrived, he was at the bungalow door at the scheduled time, his own toolbox in hand, with a list of his own. “I noticed a few other things when I was here last,” he said.
“Terrific!” Markie said, turning to the basement door to call Jesse.
“Wait,” Kyle said. “Before you get him up here.” Markie spun around to face him. “I just want to say that I know it’s not enough,” he said, gesturing to the piece of paper in his hand. She could see his jaw muscle flexing as he struggled, either to find his next words or with the memory of what he had done. Without turning, she called to Jesse.
“He’s here?” the boy yelled back, his excitement palpable.
Markie smiled at Kyle and said, “But it’s a good start.”
“We’ll buy the plane tickets,” Lydia said now, unwilling to drop the matter. “For Kyle, too.”
“I can’t let you do that.”
“Would you rather drive? It’s such a long way.”
“I’ve got to go, Mom.”
“What a shame for Jesse to lose his traditions along with his family,” Lydia said, in lieu of goodbye.
That night, instead of waking Lola when Patty knocked, Markie let the girl sleep and hurried down to answer the door before Angel woke. “I thought you might want to stay over again, in case Carol took the key, or—”
Patty grinned. “Outsmarted her. Made a few copies and hid them in the car. She can try to keep us out, but it’s not going to work.”
“Do you really want to go through all that?” Markie asked. “Because you could stay here instead. Lola could sleep the whole night, and you wouldn’t have to deal with your mother. Would be a lot easier, right?” She took a step back and gestured for Patty to come inside.
Patty didn’t move. “I don’t want to put you out just because I’ve got a difficult mother.”
“Believe me, you’re not the only one.”
“Yeah,” Patty said with a laugh, “I’m sure your mom’s always getting faded and stealing your money and hiding your keys.”
“The details might be different, but the difficulty is pretty much the same.” Markie took another step away from the door, clearing the way for Patty to come in.
“Well,” Patty said tentatively, still not moving, “it was kind of nice having a shower with actual water pressure that morning I was here. It trickles out at our place, and if the neighbor beats me to it, it’s cold by the time I get in.”
“Lola and I just put clean towels in the bathroom tonight,” Markie said.
“That’s good you’re putting her to work.”
“I didn’t intend to. She insisted. She’s apparently fascinated by the washer and dryer.”
“She’s fascinated by a lot of things over here,” Patty said. “I’d hate for her to get too comfortable. Count on staying all the time.” But she took a step inside, closing the door behind her.
The next morning, Markie was refilling her coffee mug when Patty, back from walking the dog and finished with her shower, came downstairs.
“You want a cup?” Markie asked.
“Mrs. Saint’ll have my head for drinking coffee with you over here instead of dragging you to her place,” Patty said.
“I won’t tell if you don’t.”
“I’m not really the drag-someone-somewhere type, anyway,” Patty said. “I’m more of the live-and-let-live mentality. And you’re the drink-your-coffee-alone type, I happen to know. So you do that, and I’ll go next door and yuk it up with the others.”
“No,” Markie said, “really. Stay and have a cup. An entire group I’m not keen on, but if it’s just one person . . .”
Which wasn’t completely true. There wasn’t anyone she was eager to have coffee with, even if it were only the two of them. Except for Patty. The conversations they’d had lately—when Patty stayed over, or when she came to get Angel for her walk—had made Markie see that there was something different about her. Patty had an easiness, a certain level of self-acceptance, that most people, in Markie’s experience, didn’t have, even though plenty pretended they did. Patty wasn’t embarrassed or apologetic about her crazy addict of a mother or the conditions under which she was raising her daughter.