Part 3
“Not yet,” Leah said. “He finally got comfortable.”
Nancy nodded and sat in the visitors’ chair. It was farther from the crib than she would have chosen, and she resisted the urge to drag it closer. Ben watched his mother lift the corner of a washcloth, then reached for it with a slow, determined hand.
“There you go,” Leah murmured.
Nancy knew that small voice. Leah had used it years earlier while feeding a fledgling with a bent spoon, then again when Otis arrived from the shelter, frightened of the dishwasher. She had always been patient with things that could not be hurried. Nancy had usually been the one checking the clock.
Paul texted that he was downstairs. An inspector would meet him at the laundry the next morning; Nancy could attend if she was well enough, but she would not be allowed to start anything or bring clothes out before they said it was safe.
Nancy put the phone away. “Paul’s going to get someone good.”
“I hope so.”
“He knows people.”
Leah looked at her. “I said I hope so.”
Nancy pressed her purse against her knees. She had meant reassurance. Her daughter had heard the old arrangement, in which Nancy named a capable person and the subject was considered settled.
On Monday, she stood outside Finch Laundry wearing a coat borrowed from Paul. Her own was upstairs with the baby’s winter clothes, the account books, and a pot of soup she had made for their Sunday dinner. The soup would have to be thrown away. The thought arrived with such absurd force that she almost cried over it.
The inspector and a licensed heating contractor went through the building together. Paul waited beside Nancy on the sidewalk. He had taped a closure notice to the front window and written his phone number underneath, making the numbers larger after the first customer called to say she could not read them.
“Otis can come home today,” he said. “Talia’s picking him up after class. He’s staying with me until you’re settled.”
Nancy nodded. She had been picturing him alone in a metal cage, unable to ring for anyone, though Paul said the veterinary staff had been kind.
The contractor came out carrying photographs on a tablet. A damaged, partly separated vent connection serving the laundry’s gas water heater had allowed combustion gases into the building. He was not ready to say when it had separated or everything that had contributed. They needed a proper repair and a complete assessment of the connected systems before any reopening.
“Would we have smelled it?” Nancy asked.
“You can’t smell carbon monoxide.”
“The dog kept trying to get outside.”
“He may have felt unwell. I couldn’t tell you what he noticed. The readings and the medical tests are what tell us you had an exposure.”
Nancy looked through the window at number six. A customer’s work shirt hung over its door, one sleeve folded inside out. She had spent years finding the source of mysterious marks on clothes. Here was something she could neither see nor wash away.
The inspector asked about alarms. Paul said they had smoke alarms upstairs and down. Nancy felt the drawer in the kitchen become as distinct in her mind as if she were standing beside it.
“There was another one,” she said. “It stopped working properly. I set it aside.”
“We’ll document what’s there,” the inspector said. “You’ll need working carbon monoxide protection in the appropriate locations before anyone occupies the apartment.”
Paul turned toward her, but she kept looking at the shirt. When the professionals went back inside, he asked how long the device had been out of use.
“A few weeks.”
“Did you tell Leah?”
“She knew I was dealing with the chirping.”
He let that answer hang between them. Traffic passed slowly, drivers looking at the closed storefront. Nancy waited for him to scold her. Instead, he rubbed the heel of his hand over his eyebrow and asked what she needed him to do next.
“Get us open,” she said.
“I’m working on safe. Open comes after.”
They called the insurer from his truck and reported what they knew without guessing at the cause. Then they began calling customers. Nancy offered apologies, explained that their clothes were secured inside, and said she would give them collection times when access was approved. Several people were kinder than she wanted them to be.
One woman asked whether the baby was all right. Nancy said he was improving, then stopped herself from promising more.
By afternoon, Paul had a preliminary repair estimate that would use most of the business reserve, though further work could increase it. He folded the paper once and put it in the glove compartment. Nancy was grateful not to have to look at a number she could do nothing with yet.
At the hospital, Leah was speaking with a discharge planner about a temporary place to stay after Ben was ready. The planner had information about a modest motel and local assistance; nothing was available simply because they needed it.
“Paul has room,” Nancy said from the doorway.
Leah thanked the planner and kept the papers.
“There’s the spare room and the den,” Nancy continued. “We could bring the crib over when they let us get things.”
“I’m looking at the motel for now.”
“Why pay for that when—”
Leah looked toward the crib. Ben was occupied with the cuff of his sleeve, dragging it over his knuckles and working it back again. She waited until Nancy followed her glance before she spoke.
“Because I need somewhere I can make a decision and have it stay made.”
Nancy looked down at the planner’s leaflet. Someone had circled the weekly rate. It was too much for Leah’s paycheck, but her daughter had already written a question in the margin about a room on the ground floor.
“You’re not coming back upstairs,” Nancy said.
Leah folded the leaflet and put it in her bag. “I’m trying not to.”
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