Chapter 8 - CHRISTOPHER’S LAST RECORDING
Samuel gave me the final video on the first anniversary of Christopher’s death.
“I almost forgot this.”
“You are a terrible attorney.”
“I’m seventy.”
“That is not a legal defense.”
He laughed.
We watched in Christopher’s old study.
Lucas sat beside me.
Christopher appeared on-screen.
Thinner than the first recording.
Probably weeks before he died.
“Helena.”
I immediately cried.
Annoying.
He continued:
“If Eleanor House exists when you see this, you ignored at least half your reasons for saying no.”
Lucas smiled.
“He really knew you.”
Christopher coughed.
“I need to tell you something important.”
His face became serious.
“Do not turn my gratitude into another burden.”
I stopped.
“You have a habit of doing that.”
I laughed through tears.
Christopher continued.
“You will be tempted to believe you must save every family who enters that house because I trusted you.”
His voice softened.
“You don’t.”
I felt exposed.
“You are allowed to go home.”
Pause.
“You are allowed to take vacations.”
Pause.
“You are allowed to spend your retirement money.”
Lucas looked at me pointedly.
“Stop.”
He grinned.
Christopher continued.
“You are allowed to be Lucas’s grandmother instead of his emergency management department.”
Now Lucas laughed.
I cried harder.
Then:
“And for heaven’s sake, stop cleaning rooms after we hire people to clean them.”
I covered my face.
Dr. Bell had caught me vacuuming twice.
Christopher smiled weakly at the camera.
“A house is only worth what it shelters.”
His expression changed.
“Eleanor taught me that.”
His late wife.
“She hated this mansion when we first bought it.”
I never knew.
“She said thirty bedrooms were obscene unless we found a reason to open the doors.”
He paused.
“I spent thirty years promising her someday.”
Tears ran down his face.
“Someday came late.”
Then:
“Make it count.”
The video ended.
None of us spoke.
Finally Lucas said:
“He was kind of dramatic.”
I laughed.
“Yes.”
“Like you.”
“Everyone is insulting me today.”
Then he became serious.
“Grandma?”
“Yes?”
“Do you miss cleaning here?”
I looked around.
The polished desk.
Bookcases.
Window overlooking gardens I had dusted around for eighteen years.
“No.”
That answer surprised me.
I did not miss cleaning Christopher’s house.
I missed Christopher.
Those were different.
Work and love had occupied the same rooms for so long that I had confused them.
Now I could separate them.
May you like
That mattered.
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