Already on my way. ETA 10 minutes.
Anna set down her phone and resumed her slow exploration. The kitchen, where she’d cook actual meals instead of the takeout-and-toast diet she’d maintained during her teaching years. The small room off the hallway that could be a studio, if she wanted. The closets that were finally accessible now that Meg’s ‘temporary’ storage boxes were gone.
“Mom?” Bea’s voice echoed from the back. “Can I paint my room?”
“What color?”
“Thinking kind of a deep blue. Ocean-inspired but not matchy-matchy with the actual ocean.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“Also I might want to do one wall in gold. Accent wall. Very subtle.”
“We can discuss the gold.”
“Discussion implies negotiation.”
“Discussion implies I’m your mother and I control the paint budget.”
Bea appeared in the hallway, grinning. “Wow. When did aliens coexist and trade my mother with an adult? But gold would really bring out my creative essence.”
“Your creative essence can thrive in a blue room.”
“You’re no fun.”
“I’m plenty of fun. I’m just also practical, occasionally, when absolutely necessary.”
Bea wandered into the kitchen, opening cabinets, assessing. “There’s nothing to eat here.”
“Meg just left. That was her job. We haven’t been to the store.”
“I’m aware. I’m lodging a formal complaint.”
“Complaint noted and ignored.”
Anna looked up at a knock at the door. She opened it expecting a delivery driver, maybe a neighbor.
Instead—Margo stood on the stoop, holding a small, wrapped package.
“I wanted to be here,” Margo said. “For the official handover.”
“Margo, you don’t have to?—”
“I kept this house ready, waiting for a ghost.” Margo stepped inside, looking around at the space that was finally becoming a home instead of a shrine. “I’d rather see Bea’s homework on that table. I’d rather smell your paint in the studio. I’d rather have someone living here.”
She pressed the package into Anna’s hands. Inside was a key—not the worn brass one Meg had been using, but a fresh-cut copy on a keychain with a small seashell.
“The house is yours now. Officially. Make it a home.”
Anna hugged her grandmother, unable to speak.
“Take the primary bedroom,” Margo added whenthey pulled apart. “You’re a grown woman running a business. You deserve the good light.”
“Margo—”
“And before you say anything about not deserving it or feeling like you’re taking something from Sam—stop. Sam left. You stayed. That’s not a judgment, it’s just true. And the people who stay deserve to be comfortable in their staying.”
Bea appeared in the hallway, drawn by voices. “Margo! Did you bring food? We have nothing to eat.”
