Ruth left before the hour was fully up, which Aaliyah noticed and did not correct. Some departures, even now, were a kind of mercy.
Winter settled over the Willamette Valley in its usual damp, unshowy way. The holidays ended. Elias returned to preschool with stories about Grandma Ruth and the reindeer book that he told with the confidence of a child who had not yet learned that some adults found such stories surprising. Marcus and Aaliyah continued with Denise through January, then reduced to twice a month, then to as-needed, which Denise said was either a good sign or a mutual conspiracy of avoidance, and they would have to be honest about which. They were, mostly.
In February Ruth forgot Marcus's name for a full minute during a visit at the park near the office. She covered it by calling him "you" and "honey" and laughing, but Aaliyah saw the panic flicker and settle. That night Aaliyah sat at the kitchen island with the legal pad again and wrote a single sentence under a new heading: what I am willing to carry.
The sentence read: She will forget me before she forgets him, and I will show up anyway until I can't, and I will not pretend that is easy.
She showed the pad to Marcus. He read it. He did not try to improve it. He put his hand on her shoulder and left it there while the refrigerator hummed and the house ticked through its evening noises and Elias slept down the hall with his arm around the fox.
In March, on a wet Tuesday that smelled of early cherry blossoms and exhaust, Aaliyah did something she had not planned.