"Then she is closer than she thinks." The kettle began its low complaint. Ruth took down two cups, the blue one and the white one with the hairline crack Evelyn had refused to throw away. She did not ask which Lydia wanted. She gave her the white one, which had always been Lydia's, and kept the blue. "You can stay tonight. Your room is a mess of boxes I haven't had the heart to call charity. Clear a path. If you stay longer than tonight, we will talk about rent, because I will not be your mother's substitute and I will not be your landlord in disguise without the word. I have a pension and now, apparently, a house. I do not have a desire to be owed a daughter's unpaid life."
Lydia laughed once, wetly. "She said pay rent or buy groceries or just sit."
"She was extravagant in her options. I am narrower. Rent, small, and you buy the peaches when these turn. And you tell me the truth faster than you told it in hospital waiting rooms." Ruth poured. The steam made a brief weather between them. "Mark will suffer in his pride. I am sorry for the part of that which is real fear, and I am not sorry enough to sell him the arbor. If he comes here shouting, I will not shout back. I taught boys who shouted. They do better when the room does not compete."
They drank. The letter lay between them, read later, in full, at the table, Ruth's finger moving under the lines, stopping at the sentence about the song. She looked up then. "You stepped back."