Bea came in the afternoon with my coat over one arm and a paper bag in the other hand.
Ruth answered the door. I was in the kitchen, taking labels off two jars she'd saved for herself. She hadn't known about my extensive training. When I offered, she'd put them in front of me as if that were a perfectly normal way to spend Friday.
I heard Bea's voice and stopped scraping.
“Is she here?”
“Yes,” Ruth said.
“Could I see her?”
Ruth came to the kitchen door. “Bea's got some things for you.”
I looked down at my wet hands.
“I don't want to talk.”
“All right.”
She went back to the hall. I heard her say it without adding that I didn't mean it, or that Bea should try again in a minute.
“Okay,” Bea said. “Can I leave these?”
I dried my hands and went to the doorway.
She stood just inside the front door, where Ruth had let her put down the bag. She was wearing jeans and the shoes she used for work. Her hair had been tied back badly, with a section falling free by her ear.
I had been imagining her in the wedding dress for so long that the ordinary clothes surprised me.
“Your coat,” she said when she saw me. “I finished it.”
I'd given it to her in the spring, after the seam at the cuff began coming apart. She'd taken it home and said she would sort it before I needed it again. I'd forgotten about it during the summer.
She held the cuff toward me. The lining had been stitched back neatly. There was no loose thread to pull.
“Thank you,” I said.
“And there's pasta. The little shells. No mushrooms.”
The bag smelled warm and slightly of garlic. She'd put the tub inside a folded tea towel.
I looked at it, then at her face.
“I heard about Nate,” I said.
She nodded.
Her eyes filled so quickly I had to look away. I could have stepped forward. A week ago I would have felt as if I had to.
I stayed by the kitchen door.
“I'm not ready to talk to you,” I said.
“I know.”
She put the coat over the back of the hall chair and made sure it wouldn't slip onto the floor.
“I'll go.”
Ruth opened the door for her. Bea looked at me once more, then walked down the path.
I could see her through the window beside the door. She stood outside the gate for a moment, pressing the back of her hand under her nose. Then she went to her car.
Ruth waited until she'd driven away before shutting the door.
“Do you want those put upstairs?” she asked.
I shook my head. “I'll do it.”
I lifted the coat. The outside was dark blue, worn shiny in a little patch near one pocket. I had bought it secondhand and liked it immediately because I could put my hands in the pockets without bending my elbows awkwardly.
Now the cuff was mended. Bea had done a careful job.
I put it on. It was too warm for the afternoon, but I wanted to see. The lining didn't catch against my hand anymore.
Ruth watched me without smiling as if something had been settled.
“Good fit,” she said.
“It always was.”
I took it off and hung it on the hook at the bottom of the stairs.
In the kitchen, I opened the paper bag. The pasta was still warm. I found a fork, took out a small spoonful and tasted it.
It was good.
I sat down with the tub. Ruth went back to her newspaper at the other end of the table, leaving me to eat without asking what it meant.
After a few bites, I picked up my phone. I wrote, Thank you for the coat and food.
Bea's reply came a minute later.
You're welcome.
I put the phone down and ate some more. Then I put the rest in the fridge and returned to the jars.
One label had soaked enough to slide off in a single piece. I held it up to Ruth.
“Look at that.”
She lowered her paper. “Very satisfying.”
“It really is.”
I set the clean jar on the towel and reached for the next one.