Bert smiled at the practical satisfaction in her voice. The living room area had a large window that looked out over a small courtyard, letting in plenty of natural light. The space was empty now, but Bert could easily picture it furnished with a couch, maybe a bookshelf, and a small dining table.
A short hallway led off the main room. Mary headed down it, and Bert followed, noting the width. Plenty of room for her wheelchair to maneuver. The bathroom was on the right, and when Mary flipped on the light, Bert saw it had been completely redesigned for accessibility.
A roll-in shower with a built-in bench took up one corner, with strategically placed grab bars throughout. The sink was wall-mounted with space beneath for a wheelchair, and the toilet had grab bars on both sides. It wasn’t fancy, but it was functional and safe.
“This is really well done,” Mary said, with genuine appreciation in her voice. “Whoever did the modifications actually understood what accessibility means, not just what the minimum code requires.”
The bedroom was across the hall, small but adequate. It had the same laminate flooring, another large window, and a closet with a lowered rod. Empty, it looked a bit institutional, but Bert could imagine Mary making it her own.
They made their way back to the living area, and Mary moved to the window, looking out at the courtyard. Bert stayed back, giving her space to think, to process.
“It’s small,” she said finally, not turning around.
Bert watched her carefully, as he always did with people he cared about. He tried to read between the lines and understand what they needed before they had to ask. The set of her shoulders told him she was uncertain. The way she looked out the window rather than at him suggested she was thinking about more than just the apartment. He’d learned to read Mary, the subtle shifts in her expression that meant she was worried or frustrated or pleased. Right now, she looked like someone weighing a difficult decision, and Bert wished he could somehow help carry that weight.
“But functional,” Bert offered gently. “And close to the compound. Fifteen minutes, maybe?”
* * *
She nodded and turned, meeting his eyes. “What do you think? Honestly.”
Bert considered his words carefully. “I think it’s safe. Well-maintained. The accessibility features are better than I expected. The location is good.” He paused, then added, “But what matters is whether you can see yourself living here. Whether it feels right to you.”
Mary bit her lip, a gesture he’d learned meant she was weighing options and thinking through scenarios. “My parents’ place is comfortable, but I’m thirty-two years old. Living with my parents, even temporarily, has been hard on my sense of independence. This place?” She looked around the small apartment. “It’s not perfect. But it’s a step in the right direction.”
“You still want a house?”
“Yes. But I know I’ll have to purchase something, then pay to have contractors make it accessible. That will take time, and I really want to be closer to work now.”
“Then I think you should take it,” Bert said quietly.
A smile spread across her face, bright and genuine. “Yeah. I think I should, too.”
They found Mr. Patterson in the office, and Mary signed the paperwork with her usual efficiency. She’d probably already mentally prepared for this, had all her documentation ready, and knew exactly what questions to ask. Within thirty minutes, she had keys in hand and a move-in date set for the following weekend.
Outside, the sun had dipped below the mountains, and the temperature had noticeably dropped. Mary paused by her van, keys in hand, and looked up at Bert.
“Thank you for coming with me. I know it’s not exactly exciting to spend your free time looking at an apartment.”
“Are you kidding?” Bert said, surprised by how much he meant it. “I’m just glad you found a place. I’ve been worried about that commute.”
Something shifted in her expression, and she softened. “You’ve been worried?”
He felt heat creep up his neck. “Well, yeah. The roads, the weather. It’s a long drive, and winter’s coming.”
“That’s sweet,” she said softly, and something in her eyes made his heart pound. “I can handle things, but it’s nice that you care.”
“I do,” he said, the words coming out more intense than he’d intended. “Care, I mean. About you being safe… and just about you.”
For a moment, they just looked at each other, the air between them charged with something Bert couldn’t quite name but desperately wanted to explore. Then her expression became playful.
“Well, now that I’ll be fifteen minutes away instead of an hour, you can worry less and maybe help me move instead.”
Bert laughed, relief and something warmer flooding through him. “I’d be happy to help. When are you planning to move in?”
“Saturday? I don’t have much furniture to bring, mostly just clothes and personal items. I sold my furniture when I left my last job and moved in with my parents.”
“I’ll be there,” Bert promised.