44 Charles Street

“What if I split it with you, and we don’t rent to anyone, and just live here like a family, the three of us.”

“That would work,” she said thoughtfully, “but I don’t think that’s fair to you. You only live in two rooms.” He laughed when she said it.

“I was thinking I could move upstairs with you, if you like that idea. And Ian can stay in my room. I can even pay two-thirds if you like, since there are two of us, and only one of you.” He was being generous and fair, and he wanted to make things easier for her. He could afford to. He lived simply and there was nothing showy about him. His graphic design business did well, and she suspected he had family money, given who his family was. He was a modest person, but he didn’t have to struggle as she did. For her, everything was tight, and she didn’t want to sell the last of her father’s paintings if she didn’t have to. She was still sad she had sold the others.

“I think we should split it fifty-fifty, if you want to,” Francesca said cautiously, grateful for his help. “We could turn your whole suite into Ian’s room, with a playroom, use the living room downstairs, sleep in my room, and we could turn Marya’s room into a den or an office for you. It would make a nice office.” It was sunny and bright with a view of the garden. “You can smoke Cuban cigars there,” she teased him. But it all made sense and would work.

“I like that idea. I don’t want you taking tenants in again either,” Chris said simply. “I think it’s too risky too.” And at least the house was hers now. If Chris ever left, and they broke up, she could think about roommates again, but if he paid half, for now she wouldn’t have to.

“That would work,” Francesca said again, gratefully. “I was getting worried.” He could see that she was, and he was sorry it was so difficult for her. He had suspected that Marya leaving would put an additional burden on her, and didn’t realize how heavy. Francesca lived with very little to spare. And Chris wanted to help her. He would be by splitting the mortgage payment with her, although it doubled his rent, but he’d have use of the whole house now. And they were going to be living there like a couple with a child, not just four roommates. “I’ve got some other ideas about how to make things easier for you,” he said simply. “Maybe we can talk about that another time.” She nodded, wondering what they were. But for now he had solved her problem, and she was deeply grateful.

Marya asked her if she was going to be okay, when they cooked dinner together that night. “I feel terrible leaving you in the lurch on such short notice, but Charles-Edouard kind of sprang it on me a few weeks ago, and I didn’t agree to it till last week. Will you be all right here?”

“I will now,” Francesca said, looking relieved. “Chris is going to help me.”

“I was hoping he would. What are your plans now, the two of you?”

“No plans for the moment.” Francesca smiled at her. “We’re just going to live here and hope for the best and see how it works out.” Marya hoped they would get married eventually, and Francesca was hoping the same for her. Charles-Edouard wanted to marry her as soon as his divorce came through. The dissolution papers were going to court in a few weeks, to be stamped by the judge, and then he’d be free. But Marya was in no hurry. Nor was Francesca. She’d been avoiding marriage all her life, and didn’t want to change her mind about it now, no matter how much she loved Chris, and she did. “I don’t want to be like my mother.” She had said that to Marya before, and to Chris.

“You couldn’t be in a million years,” Marya reassured her. “She’s a completely different woman than you are. I like her, but you’re just not playing in the same league she is.” Marya saw Thalia for what she was, a frivolous, spoiled, selfish, superficial woman, even if she was amusing, and a bit of a caricature of herself. But Marya respected Francesca profoundly, and loved her, like a daughter or a niece. “Even if you got married ten times, you wouldn’t be anything like her.”

“I’d rather not risk it. I wonder if she’ll ever find another victim. She’s been shopping for number six for years. You’d think she’d get tired of it and forget it, but she never will. She’ll want to get married again when she’s ninety.” They both laughed and suspected it was true.

She and Chris talked about their plans for the house that night. She was wondering when they should tell Ian.

“Do you think he’ll be upset if you move upstairs with me?” She looked worried, and Chris kissed her.

“Stop worrying. He’ll be thrilled to have his own playroom. I’m going to get him a big TV so he can watch movies. And we’ll just be up one flight of stairs.” They were both excited about finally sharing a bedroom. It was becoming a real life, not just a romance.