You think I dont understand why you came here? Aunt Ida said with a cruel smile. The house is lovely, the garden is about six hundred square metres right in the centre of the village. Youre not foolish, Blythe! Youve already calculated everything!
I was washing the dishes when Aunt Ida appeared in the doorway.
Aunt Ida, what are you talking about? I sighed. What house? You asked me to come when you were in hospital.
I had long suspected that my aunt wasnt thrilled by my presence, but it was necessary first of all for her. She had just undergone an operation and now needed help.
Dont try to twist things! she snapped, stepping toward me.
Startled, I stumbled. The sharp scent of her perfume hit my nose.
I asked for help, not to move into a readymade life! she continued. I thought youd stay for a week, at most two. Yet youve brought your belongings, taken a room, even claimed a spot in the kitchen!
She meant the chipped white mug Id found in the back of a cupboard and taken for myself. In her eyes that was proof of some scheming plan.
Every morning I get up at six to water your flower beds, I reminded her. At lunch I race home to heat your soup. In the evenings I tidy up and wash the laundry. On weekends I weed the garden because your blood pressure stops you from bending. And you think Im doing all this for an inheritance?
Because of what else? she huffed, wounded and angry. A young, pretty girlwhat, you have nothing else to do with your life?
I wanted to tell her how sorry I felt for her, alone, when the doctor warned she wouldnt manage without outside help. I thought Id stay a while, get her back on her feet, and see what happened afterwards.
But looking at Aunt Ida, I realised arguing was pointless. She would never believe me.
You see, Blythe, she turned to the stove, pots clanging, Im not new to this. Ive seen helpers beforefirst they pamper you, then they wait for a will. Ill tell you now, you wont be waiting for me. Ill live on. This house is mine, the garden is mine, and Im the only mistress here!
I wasnt offended. I simply felt a sudden clarity, a sobering calm. Her nitpicking had worn me down over the monthstoo much salt in the soup, the apron not ironed right, the wrong loaf of bread at the shop. Id blamed old age and loneliness for her sharpness.
Now I understood it wasnt a character flaw. It was a deep mistrust, an inability to see that people can help without expecting anything in return.
Youre right, I said. Why should I stay when you already know everything about me?
I went to my room and began packing.
From the hallway came Aunt Idas footsteps. She followed me in, watching me gather my things. Part of her seemed relieved, but at the last moment she hesitated, as if she couldnt accept that I might really leave.
What are you planning? she asked uncertainly.
Im leaving, I muttered over my shoulder. Just as you wanted. I wont be eyeing your inheritance any longer.
I didnt mean, she began, her voice softening a little.
Where will you go now? Your flat already has tenants.
Ill sort something out, I replied. Ill stay the night at Katies, then find a place.
Dont worry yourself, she waved a hand. I was just saying, nothing more.
Aunt Ida, I said calmly, do you know why I really came?
Why? she asked, wary.
Because Mum always said, Aunt Ida is a hard woman, but shes alone. Completely alone. Apart from us, she has no one. When you called from the hospital, I wondered how you were copinghigh blood pressure, a garden to tend, that huge house. I came not for a month, but to help.
Thats righthelp, not a house, she grumbled, less confidently.
The frail, arthritic woman with twisted fingers could not, until the end, accept my sincerity.
No, I zipped my suitcase, just to help. Because youre family. Because its the right thing. But you dont want help. You prefer to see everyone as a schemer. Its easier for you to be the victim and everyone else the villain. You cant even imagine Im a normal person who cares about you. So we cant live under the same roof.
Aunt Ida fell silent, looking confused. I could not tell if she understood anything.
Im leaving, I said. Do as you wish. Keep suspecting everyone, accusing them of greed. But remember, if you ever feel unwell again, think back to this conversation. Remember how you blamed the only person who came to help you.
I walked down the corridor, slipped on my trainers, grabbed my coat from the hook. Aunt Ida watched me with hurt, anger, and bewilderment.
The garden is watered, I called as I left. The laundry is in the machine, the fridge has enough cutlets for two daysjust heat them. Your bloodpressure pills are on the nightstand. Dont forget to take them.
Aunt Ida she began, but the door shut before she could finish.
How could she be so sure that everyone is after her kindness? I thought. How could she trust no one?
With those thoughts I stepped out into the yard, turned at the gate, and saw Aunt Ida standing on the porch, staring as I walked away. The whole way to the bus stop my mind replayed the days events. The saddest part? She would find an excuse for herself, feel no shame, and keep seeing herself as the injured party.
And that is the lesson: when mistrust blinds us, we imprison ourselves in a world of imagined enemies, never letting genuine kindness in.
