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I almost left it on voicemail.
“Ariel, it’s Brenda…”
I listened while she explained the balance and which bank department she was calling.
“Ariel, it’s Brenda…”
“I’m afraid I have some difficult news regarding your mortgage,” she continued. “The foreclosure proceedings begin today.”
Her words broke something inside me. I didn’t even say goodbye, I just hung up, pressed my palm to my stomach, and whispered, “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m trying, I promise.”
She gave a sharp kick, as if telling me not to give up. But I needed air, just a breath that didn’t taste of fear. I went outside, blinking in the harsh sunlight, picking up my mail.
That’s when I saw Mrs. Higgins, the neighbor. She was 82 years old, her hair always pinned up, and she was usually sitting on her porch with a crossword puzzle. But today she was on the lawn, bent over an antique lawnmower, pushing with both hands.
“The seizure procedure begins today.”
The grass almost swallowed his shins.
She looked up when she heard me, wiped the sweat from her forehead and managed to sketch a smile that wavered at the edges.
“Hello, Ariel. Beautiful day for a little gardening, isn’t it?”
Her tone was light, but I could see she was struggling. The clippers stumbled on a hidden clump and stalled with a groan.
I hesitated. The sun was burning my skin, my back ached, and the last thing I wanted was to play the hero.
She looked up when she heard me.