“I should've locked the door.”
“No.”
“It was my responsibility.”
“No.”
He turned.
The word came harder than intended.
Sarah went quiet.
Jack looked upstairs.
Then said:
“Let her play with it.”
Sarah blinked.
“What?”
“The horse.”
“Jack.”
“It's a toy.”
“You don't have to.”
“Mary bought it for Lucy to use.”
He swallowed.
“Not to gather dust.”
Sarah watched him.
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
That honesty made her smile faintly.
“But let her.”
Gracie spent the morning pulling the wooden horse through every room.
The sound of its wheels struck Jack like memory.
Then, slowly, became simply sound.
By afternoon, he showed her how to repair one loose wheel.
Gracie held the screw.
Jack tightened it.
Sarah watched from the kitchen.
Something warm and frightening began growing inside her too.
That night Jack paid Sarah the twenty dollars.
She stared at the money.
“You paid me yesterday.”
“That was dinner.”
“This?”
“Storm delay.”
“I didn't work today.”
“You cooked breakfast.”
“With your food.”
“Lunch.”
“You ate half.”
“Occupancy fee.”
Sarah laughed.
“That isn't a thing.”
“It is now.”
She pushed the money back.
Jack pushed it toward her.
“Sarah.”
“No.”
“You need it.”
Her expression hardened.
“I know.”
“Then take it.”
“I won't be pitied.”
“This isn't pity.”
“What is it?”
Jack had no answer that would not reveal too much.
Sarah looked at him.
Finally:
“Give me work.”
“What?”
“You want me to take money?”
“Yes.”
“Then hire me.”
“For what?”
She looked around.
“This house has six years of dust you apparently haven't noticed.”
Jack almost smiled.
“What are your rates?”
“You're impossible.”
“Probably.”
So they negotiated.
Sarah would return twice a week.
Cooking.
Cleaning.
Laundry.
Twenty-five dollars monthly plus meals while working.
Jack thought the amount too low.
Sarah thought it too high.
They argued.
Settled.
The snow stopped the next morning.
Sarah prepared to leave.
Gracie hugged the wooden horse before putting it back.
Jack stood near the doorway.
A strange panic rose inside him.
The house would become empty again.
He hated that he cared.
Sarah buttoned Gracie's coat.
“Say goodbye.”
Gracie waved.
“Bye, Jack.”
Jack smiled.
“Bye, little one.”
No Dad.
Good.
That should have relieved him.
It did not.
Sarah looked at him.
“Thursday?”
“For work.”
“Yes.”
“Thursday.”
They left.
The farmhouse became silent.
Jack stood in the doorway long after they disappeared.
Then turned inside.
The silence was different now.
Not peaceful.
Empty.
He finally understood the difference.
Thursday became Tuesday because Jack found an excuse involving pantry shelves.
Then Saturday because Sarah offered to mend curtains.
Weeks passed.
Winter deepened.
Sarah worked.
Jack paid.
Gracie played.
No one called it family.
That would have frightened all three of them.
Jack fixed the stove at Miller cottage.