Chapter 84 - The Things We Borrow
The temporary arrangement lasted longer than anyone first hoped.
We agreed to it through the people helping Peter and checked what responsibilities belonged to everyone involved.
There were visits.
Telephone calls.
Updates about housing that sometimes changed before the day was over.
Peter came on Tuesdays and Saturdays.
He walked Milo when he could, sat with him when he could not, and gradually stopped apologizing every time he rang our bell.
He brought food.
A brush.
A faded yellow toy shaped like something none of us could identify.
“That was supposed to be a duck,” he explained.
Isabel examined it.
“What happened?”
“Milo.”
For several weeks, our house acquired a different rhythm.
We checked the floor before opening doors.
We moved food away from the edge of the table.
Noah began leaving his bedroom door open.
Then, one afternoon, Tessa called.
Her father had found a small flat where Milo could live.
The arrangements were confirmed.
They could collect him on Sunday.
I thanked her.
Then I stood in the kitchen with the phone still in my hand.
Lena saw my face.
“Good news?”
“Yes.”
She looked toward the hallway.
Milo was asleep against Noah’s discarded school bag.
“Oh.”
We told the children that evening.
Isabel began crying immediately.
Nico asked whether Peter would still visit.
Noah went upstairs.
I found him sitting on his bed.
“I knew this would happen.”
“What?”
“We’d like him.”
I sat beside him.
“Yes.”
“So why did we do it?”
I looked at the open doorway.
From below came the scrape of Milo shifting on the floor.
“Because he needed somewhere safe while his home was being arranged.”
Noah wiped his face with the heel of his hand.
“That sounds like something adults say when children don’t get to choose.”
I let the sentence land.
“You did get less say in this than Lena and I did.”
He looked at me.
“We should have talked more about what helping him might feel like.”
“Would you have said no if I asked?”
“I don’t know.”
He turned toward the wall.
I stayed until he told me he wanted some time alone.
On Saturday, Peter came for his usual visit.
Noah brought down Milo’s brush.
“His fur gets stuck here,” he said, showing Peter the edge.
“I know.”
“And he likes sitting near the kitchen when somebody cooks.”
“He always has.”
Noah nodded.
Then he asked, “Can you send us a picture when he gets there?”
May you like
Peter looked at him carefully.
“Yes,” he said. “I can do that.”
