Mrs. Harper usually turned on her lights before dusk. She liked to read in the evening, and she often told me that good lighting made her feel less alone in a large room.
Perhaps she had gone out.
But that did not seem likely. When she left the neighborhood, she usually asked me to keep an eye on Oliver or mentioned that she would be away.
I looked again.
Not a single light was visible.
“Maybe she's already gone to bed,” I told Emma.
“It's not bedtime yet.”
“No, it isn't.”
Emma stared through the window for another moment.
“Maybe her lights are broken.”
“Maybe.”
She considered this.
“Can we check on her?”
I looked at my daughter.
It was such a simple question, asked without hesitation. To Emma, checking on someone who might need help was the most natural thing in the world.
I thought about the way Daniel would have answered.
He would have put on his jacket, picked up a flashlight, and walked next door without wasting another minute.
I dried my hands.
“Finish your dinner, sweetheart. I'm going to see whether she's all right.”
“Can I come?”
“It's very cold outside. Stay here for a few minutes, and I'll be right back.”
I put on my coat and stepped into the evening air.
The wind cut through my clothes, and I instinctively placed a hand over my stomach as I walked toward the blue house.
The front garden looked different without the porch light. The roses were only dark shapes along the walkway, and the windows reflected the faint glow of the streetlights.
I climbed the steps and knocked.
There was no answer.
I knocked again, a little louder.
“Mrs. Harper? It's Claire. Are you home?”
For several seconds, I heard nothing.
Then I heard a soft movement inside.
The door opened slowly.
Mrs. Harper stood in the doorway wearing two sweaters, one over the other. A woolen shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and her gray hair was loosely pinned at the back of her head.
She looked surprised to see me.
“Claire! Is everything all right?”
“I was about to ask you the same thing. Emma noticed that your house was dark.”
Mrs. Harper glanced toward the street.
“Oh, that little girl notices everything, doesn't she?”
“She certainly does.”
I tried to smile, but something about Mrs. Harper's appearance made me uneasy.
Her face looked pale. Her hands were tucked into the sleeves of her sweaters, and she seemed to be standing as close to the doorway as possible to avoid letting the cold air inside.
“Are you feeling okay?” I asked.
“I'm perfectly fine, dear.”
Her answer came too quickly.
I looked past her shoulder.
The hallway was dark. I could just make out the outline of a table and a coat hanging on the wall.
“Is there a problem with the electricity?”
For a moment, she did not answer.
Then she lowered her eyes.
“It's a little embarrassing.”
“What's embarrassing?”
She opened the door a little wider.
“Would you like to come in for a moment?”
I followed her into the house.
The air inside was cold enough that I could feel it through my coat.
I immediately noticed that the curtains were drawn and that the small lamp near the sofa was switched off. A blanket lay folded across the armchair, and a stack of envelopes sat on the dining table.
Oliver was curled into a tight ball on a cushion near the window.
He lifted his head when I entered, then settled back down.
“Mrs. Harper,” I said quietly, “why is the house so cold?”
She tried to laugh.
“Old houses are drafty. You know how it is.”
But she rubbed her hands together as she spoke.
I looked toward the table.
Several bills had been placed in a neat stack beside a pair of reading glasses. One envelope had been opened, and another bore a notice that appeared to have come from the electricity company.
Mrs. Harper noticed where I was looking.
Her shoulders sagged.
“I was hoping no one would notice.”
6. The Bill She Couldn't Pay
We sat at the dining table.
Mrs. Harper pulled a knitted blanket around her lap, and I took off my gloves so I could hold her hand if she needed me to.
For a while, she spoke about ordinary things.
She asked how Emma was doing. She wanted to know whether the baby had been moving much. She apologized for not having any tea ready, explaining that she had been trying to avoid opening the refrigerator too often because she wanted to keep everything cold for as long as possible.
Then she stopped speaking.
I waited.
Finally, she looked at the stack of envelopes.
“My electricity was disconnected this afternoon.”
I stared at her.
“Disconnected?”
She nodded.
“I received notices, of course. I knew the payment was overdue. I just thought I could arrange something before it came to this.”
“Why didn't you tell me?”
She looked embarrassed.
“Because I didn't want to be a burden.”
The words were so familiar that they hurt.
Mrs. Harper explained that she had experienced several unexpected expenses that month. Her medication had cost more than she had anticipated, and another household expense had arrived at the worst possible time.
She had paid what she could, believing she would be able to catch up when her next payment arrived.
But the deadline had passed.
The electricity company had disconnected the service.
“I thought I could manage for a few days,” she said softly. “I have blankets, and I can stay in the warmest room. Oliver and I will be fine.”
She glanced toward the cat.
Oliver opened one eye, apparently unimpressed by the plan.
I looked around the dark room.
Outside, the wind was getting stronger.
“You can't stay here without heat,” I said.
“I have managed worse things in my life.”
“I don't doubt that. But you shouldn't have to manage this alone.”
She pressed her lips together.