Progress. «Thanks, son. Are you working late today?» Parker shrugs, his eyes still on his phone.
«As usual. Lots of inspections, even more paperwork.» He gets up, putting the cup in the dishwasher. I notice that he didn’t wash the pan after making himself scrambled eggs.
Of course, I’ll wash it. «We’ll be late today,» he says, heading for the door. «Bridget has rehearsal, then Odelia and I are going out for dinner. Don’t wait up for us.»
The door closes before I have time to respond. I am left alone in the kitchen with cold oatmeal and an unwashed frying pan, a typical morning in the house I helped buy.
After breakfast, I go about my usual chores: cleaning the kitchen, doing laundry, dusting. Odelia never asked me to do this, but I know that if I don’t, she’ll sigh irritably in the evening, muttering something about men who can’t keep the house tidy. At noon, I make myself a sandwich and sit down at my old laptop.
I check my email, mostly newsletters and bill notifications. I still pay for part of the utilities, even though no one asked me to. It’s my initiative, my attempt not to be a burden.
The phone rings. It’s Emmett, my old friend from college. He’s the only one who calls me regularly.
«Cedric, old man, how are you?» His voice is full of energy, as always. Emmett is also 67, but unlike me, he refuses to grow old. He runs a small investment fund, plays golf on the weekends, and recently married for the third time to a woman 15 years his junior.
«Same old, same old, Emmett.»
«So you’re still putting up with those ungrateful kids?» He doesn’t hide his opinion of my situation. «Listen, I’m going to The Old Maple tomorrow. Want to join me? It’s been a while.»
The Old Maple is a small bar in downtown Lexington where we sometimes meet. I agree. I need to clear my head.
After our conversation, I pull an old ledger out from under my mattress. No one knows it exists. Here I keep track of how much I’ve invested in Parker’s house, how much I pay for utilities each month, and what other expenses I cover.
And since last year, I’ve started writing down every dismissive remark, every cold look. It’s silly to keep such a record of insults, but I can’t stop. Today’s entry: «cold oatmeal, didn’t say thank you for cleaning up, didn’t invite me to dinner.»
I close the book and put it back in its hiding place. Why am I doing this? I don’t know. Maybe it’s a kind of therapy. Maybe it’s proof to myself that I’m not going crazy, that my feelings are justified.
In the evening, I’m sitting in my room rereading Dickens when I hear Bridget coming home. She knocks on my door, the only one who always does that. «Grandpa, may I?»
She comes in with her backpack and plops down on the edge of my bed. «How was rehearsal?» I ask, putting down my book.
«Boring.» She wrinkles her nose. «Mr. Patterson criticized everyone again. He said I’m not emotional enough for Juliet.»
«Juliet, huh?» I smile. «Want to read it together? I was pretty good in amateur theater when I was younger.»
Her eyes light up, and for the next hour, we read Shakespeare, acting out scenes. Bridget laughs when I try to portray Romeo by dropping to one knee. My sore knee protests, but I endure.
When Parker and Odelia return from dinner, we are still rehearsing. I hear their footsteps and voices. «Bridget,» Odelia calls. «It’s late. School tomorrow.»
My granddaughter sighs. «I’m coming, Mom,» she shouts, then adds in a whisper, «Thanks, Grandpa. Juliet is better with you.»
She slips out, and a minute later, Parker pokes his head in the door. «Dad, we asked you not to keep Bridget up late. She needs her sleep.»
«We were rehearsing her part for the school play,» I explain.
«That’s what teachers are for,» he snaps. «Good night.»
The door closes, and I am left alone. I can hear the three of them talking and laughing in the house. Family. I used to be part of it.
Before going to bed, I take out my book again and make another entry. «Doesn’t want me to help Bridget with her acting. Pushes his granddaughter away.» Closing the book, I remember Miriam’s last words.
She was lying in her hospital bed, transparent as paper, holding my hand. «Cedric,» she whispered. «Don’t let them take your dignity. Promise me.»
I promised, not fully understanding what she meant. Now I’m beginning to understand. As I lie in bed, I think about what Emmett would say if he knew the whole truth about how I’m being treated in the house I paid most of the money for.
Sleep comes slowly, fitfully, and restlessly, like all my nights in this addition I call home.
The Old Maple has hardly changed in the last 20 years. The same wood paneling on the walls, the same worn leather seats in the booths, the same smell of beer and old wood. I arrived before Emmett, took our usual booth in the corner, and ordered a ginger ale.
I gave up alcohol five years ago because of my blood pressure medication. «Cedric Hall, you look like a man who’s about to go under,» boomed a familiar voice. Emmett Pryor never entered a room. He always burst in.
Tall, with a shock of gray hair, he wore a bright blue jacket that would have looked ridiculous on any other 67-year-old man, but not on him.
«Good to see you, Emmett,» I said, getting up to hug my old friend.
«You’re lying through your teeth,» he laughed, sitting down across from me, «but I’m glad to see you anyway. Whiskey, Tom,» he called to the bartender, who just nodded in response.
Emmett was the only constant in my life since college. We met in our freshman year when we were both studying finance. I went into accounting, he went into investments, and he never missed an opportunity to point out that he had made the right choice.
«How’s your new wife?» I asked when Tom brought the whiskey.
«Phoebe is wonderful.» Emmett took a sip from his glass. «She’s organizing a charity event next month. You should come, Cedric. Get out of your little house, have some fun.»
I shook my head. «You know I’m not good at these kinds of events.»
«I know your son and his wife keep you on a short leash.» His voice suddenly became serious. «How long is this going to last?»
«It’s my choice, Emmett,» I sighed. «They’re my family.»
«Family doesn’t make you feel like a burden,» he tapped his fingers on the table, as he always did when he was annoyed. «But that’s not why I called you here.» He leaned forward, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
«Remember that investment we made six years ago? The tech company Orion Security?»
I nodded. Shortly before Miriam’s death, Emmett had convinced me to invest some of my savings in a cybersecurity startup. The amount was small but significant, about $30,000. Miriam thought it was a whim, but she didn’t object. «You deserve a little madness,» she said at the time.
«What about them?» I asked, sipping my ginger ale.
Emmett smiled broadly, his eyes shining like a boy’s. «They went public three months ago. The stock has skyrocketed. I waited to make sure it wasn’t a temporary spike before telling you.»
He took a folded piece of paper from his jacket’s inside pocket and placed it in front of me. «Here’s the account statement.»
I slowly unfolded the paper, put on my glasses, and stared at the numbers. I blinked. I looked again. «Is this… Is this a mistake?»
«No mistake, old man,» Emmett saluted me with his glass. «Your $30,000 has turned into $483,000. After taxes, that’s about $350,000 net.»
My hands trembled, and I put the paper down on the table. «My God,» I whispered.
«This is… This is freedom, Cedric.» Emmett covered my hand with his. «Freedom from your ungrateful son and his wife. Freedom to start a new life.»
I stared at the statement, unable to take my eyes off the numbers. $350,000. In Lexington, that money could buy a decent apartment or even a small house. «Emmett, I don’t know what to say.»
«Tell them you’re finally moving out,» he squeezed my hand. «I can’t stand watching how they treat you anymore. Miriam would turn over in her grave.»
The mention of Miriam brought a lump to my throat. What would she say now? What advice would she give? «I need to think about it,» I finally said.
«Of course,» Emmett nodded, «but not too long. Life is short, especially at our age.»
We spent the rest of the evening reminiscing about old times. College, our first jobs, how I met Miriam at a party Emmett threw. He talked about his travels with Phoebe, his plans for the future.
«You know, we’re thinking about getting a house in Spain,» he said, ordering a third whiskey. «You should come with us next year. Mediterranean diet, Spanish beauties. You’ll shake things up.»
I smiled, but my thoughts were far away. I imagined a life without daily humiliation, without Odilia’s cold stares, without the disappointment in Parker’s eyes. A life where I could see Bridget without feeling like an unwelcome guest.
«I have to go,» I said, glancing at my watch. It was almost ten. «I have to get up early tomorrow.»
«Why?» Emmett snorted. «You’re retired. You can sleep until noon.»
«Habit,» I shrugged. Emmett insisted that his driver take me home. The luxurious sedan pulled up softly in front of Parker’s house at eleven o’clock in the evening.
«Think about what I said,» Emmett patted me on the shoulder. «You deserve better, Cedric, and now you can afford it.»
I nodded, thanked him for the evening, and got out of the car. The house was dark, with only a dim light on in the living room. I quietly opened the door with my key and was about to sneak into the annex when I heard voices coming from the living room.
