SHE walked from room to room. Randy had gone out to get the newspaper, and she was glad to be on her own for a little while. She needed to reacquaint herself with her home before she introduced Randy into it and it all changed.
She sat experimentally in her favorite armchair, then got up and shoved it into its proper place, just a few inches more from the wall. It was funny, she thought, how everything looked fresh and different after her time away. It was as though her things had dissolved on her departure and reconstituted themselves for her return.
She passed the mirror in the hall and stopped and looked more carefully at her reflection. Surely she had changed, too. Perhaps her molecules had melted down in the sun of California and rearranged themselves. It was not, of course, that she was looking at a blond twenty-year-old in the mirror. But she looked ten years younger. Her orange blouse was more color than the house had seen in a while, and there was a glint in her eye that she did not recognize.
And then she saw it. An envelope, her name written on the front in a hand that brought memories flooding back. She reached for the envelope and opened it, pulling out and unfolding a single sheet of notepaper. As she read, her knees gave way, and she sat down hard on the stairs.
My dear,
I wanted to thank you for your hospitality at a time when I was badly in need of it. You are a gracious and forgiving woman.
I also wanted to bring Lorna to your attention. She has had her heart broken and is in need of her mother. I have tried to comfort her, but I am afraid circumstances mean I shall have to pass the mantle of parental care back to you.
Yours truly,
Gilbert
She did not know how much time passed as she sat on the stairs. Only that eventually Randy rang the doorbell and that she let him in, his arms full of newspapers. She rallied herself and greeted him with a smile. She folded the letter and put it in her pocket. She must get on with life, even if it had altered in her absence.