Chapter 4: The Yellow Door

I drove to Sophie's house that afternoon, because her text had not said I couldn't knock.

It was a small brick ranch with a yellow door that Sophie and I had painted together the week they bought it.

Evan opened it.

He teaches band at the high school and hates it when people raise their voices.

"Helen," he said. "She's lying down."

"I'm not here to fight. I only want to see her."

He stood aside, and I went in.

Sophie was on the couch with her feet on a pillow, one hand flat on her belly.

The little spare room behind her was open.

I saw a white crib with the sheets still in the plastic and a bare corner by the window.

I had measured that corner in my head three weeks ago for the cradle.

"Mom, you shouldn't have come."

"I won't stay long."

I sat in the chair across from her.

Her eyes had the same hard shine they'd had at the shower.

"Dad told me about the barn," she said. "He said Diane brought buyers and you screamed at them."

"I didn't scream. I told them the barn is mine and it isn't for sale."

"Mom."

"It is mine, Sophie. Your grandmother left it to me."

"Dad says you don't remember agreeing to sell."

"Because I didn't agree."

She pressed her lips together and looked at Evan.

He was in the doorway with his arms crossed, and he did not look back.

"I didn't want to do this," Sophie said. "But I need you to listen. I'm going to be somebody's mother in four weeks."