Chapter 7: The House
The adjuster walked the property with a tablet and a neutral expression. Burst pipe. Furnace failure. Secondary water damage in the kitchen and adjacent wall. He noted the dates I had been overseas, the lack of heat, the fall, the hospital record. Insurance would cover what the policy covered. Timeline for drying and repair was measured in weeks, not days.
I signed where he indicated and stood in the doorway of the bedroom I had closed the night before. James’s sweater still hung on the chair. The air was warmer now with temporary heaters running, but the room felt like a held breath. I packed a small bag of his things that still smelled like him and a few of my own clothes. The rest could wait for remediation.
May you like
Troy appeared at the curb while I was loading Mrs. Keller’s car. He did not cross the caution line. He called my name once, then again, louder, for the benefit of a neighbor with a phone. I closed the trunk and got into the passenger seat without answering. Mrs. Keller drove away at a legal, unhurried speed. In the side mirror Troy stood with his hands on his hips, a man discovering that volume did not reopen a door that paperwork and silence had closed.
At the rental I set James’s sweater on the second chair and left it there. Not as a shrine. As a fact of occupancy. Someone had lived. Someone was still deciding how to continue.
