Chapter 11
The movers came back at nine with the same quiet efficiency. Two men in gray shirts, a dolly, blankets folded over the rail. They didn't knock like it was a question. One tapped the door frame and said, "Morning, ma'am," and waited for me to step aside.
I was already dressed, my hair pulled back again, the gold dress gone and folded in the bedroom closet. I wore jeans and a simple sweater. The apartment felt different in daylight. The cream sofa was bare, the city lights outside turned to plain glass and a view of the building across the street. Ryan stood by the kitchen counter with his hands in his pockets. He had his jacket on.
"We'll start with the bedroom boxes," one of the movers said. He checked the clipboard. "Then the closet."
I nodded. "That's fine."
Ryan didn't argue. That was new. He just lifted the first box from the hallway stack and followed them out. I heard the wheels of the dolly and the soft thud when they set it down.
For a while I stayed in the living room and let them work around me. The teal walls looked lighter without his things leaning against them. I could hear the elevator ding from down the hall each time it arrived. The men moved in a loop — apartment to hallway to elevator, elevator to loading area, back up again. Ryan fell into the rhythm with them. He carried the medium boxes himself, one at a time, careful not to drag anything. No one spoke much except for short directions. "Got that corner." "Hold the door."
At one point the elevator was taking too long and the hallway was empty except for a stack of three taped boxes by my door. I stepped to the doorway and watched.
Ryan was at the elevator bank with the dolly. The doors opened and he pushed the boxes in, then held the door with his shoulder so the mover could get the hand truck on. He looked tired. His navy shirt from the other night was gone, replaced by a gray t-shirt, and there were lines under his eyes. He glanced up and saw me. He didn't wave or call out. He just gave a small nod, the same kind of nod I'd given that first night, and let the doors close between us.
I didn't follow. I stepped back inside and pulled the door until it was almost shut, leaving it open just an inch so the movers could come back through.
Mrs. Jensen from 4B came down the hall with her grocery cart. She paused when she saw the boxes. I knew her by sight, a woman in her sixties who always watered the hall plants.
"Moving day, huh?" she said to me, not unkindly.
"Yes," I said.
She looked at the empty space where the dolly had been, then at my face. "Looks organized. No big mess."
"No," I said. "They're being careful."
She smiled a little. "That's the way to do it. My son moved last spring, left scratches all down the elevator." She rolled her cart past, not waiting for more. Her voice was even, matter-of-fact, like this was any other move-out in the building. It steadied me more than anything else had that morning.
After she passed, I went back into the apartment and did what I'd been waiting to do. I crossed to the living room and put my hands on the cream sofa and pushed. It scraped lightly against the floor. I shifted it six inches back toward the window, where it had been before Ryan had angled it for the television. I straightened the cushions. Then I walked to the large windows and unlocked them both and pushed them open. The air was cool, late morning air with traffic noise from the street below. It moved through the rooms and lifted the faint smell of cardboard and cleaning spray.
I stood there and breathed. The apartment was louder with the windows open, but it felt like mine again.
The movers made two more trips. On the last one, Ryan came back up alone to check the bedroom closets. He opened each door, looked inside, closed it. He checked under the bed. He didn't take anything that wasn't his. When he passed me in the hallway he said, "I think that's everything for the truck."
"Thank you," I said.
He hesitated by the entry, where the rolling suitcase had been that first night. There was nothing there now except the faint line in the rug where it had stood. He looked at it, then at me.
"I'll be back for the final sweep," he said. "And the key."
May you like
"I know," I said.
He left the door open for the mover holding the elevator. I heard the ding again, and then the hallway went quiet. I walked to the doorway one last time and looked out. The elevator doors were closed, the indicator light dark. No boxes, no dolly, no one waiting. The hall was empty and clean. Inside behind me, the windows were still open and the sofa sat where I'd put it, in the light.
