December 20th. 11 AM.
Maya's phone rang. She was in the lobby, talking to Mr. Chen about the boiler.
It was Irene. "You need to come. Now."
Maya ran.
Leo was at work. Marco was sleeping. She took the subway alone. The train was crowded. She stood holding a pole, watching the tunnels flash past.
When she got to the hospital, Irene was in the hallway. Her face was pale.
"She's asking for you," Irene said. "She can't talk. But she's writing. On a notepad."
Maya went into the room.
Mrs. Patterson was propped up on pillows. Her left side was still. Her right hand held a pen. A notepad was on her lap.
Maya sat next to the bed. "I'm here."
Mrs. Patterson wrote slowly. The letters were shaky.
Thank you.
"For what?"
For being my family.
Maya's eyes burned. "You're my family too."
Mrs. Patterson wrote again.
Take care of the building.
"I will."
And the boy.
"Leo?"
Yes. He's good.
Maya took her hand. "I'll take care of him."
Mrs. Patterson's eyes closed. Her breathing was shallow.
"I love you," Maya said.
The old woman's hand squeezed hers. Once. Then it went still.
The monitor beeped. A nurse came in. Then another.
Maya was led to the hallway.
Irene was crying. Maya wasn't. She just stood there, staring at the door.
---
The funeral was three days later.
It was small. Irene arranged it. A church in Crown Heights. A priest Maya had never met. A few people from the facility. Mr. Chen came. Marco came. Jasmine came. Leo came.
Mr. Delgado stood in the back, leaning on his cane. He was crying.
Maya sat in the front row. She didn't cry. She just stared at the casket.
After the service, Irene took her hand.
"She loved you," Irene said. "You were the daughter she never had."
Maya nodded. She couldn't speak.
"Come to Florida sometime. Visit me."
"I will."
Irene hugged her. Then she walked away.
---
That night, Maya went to the roof.
The garden was gone. The buckets were stacked. The stakes were tied. The easel was covered.
She sat on the milk crate. The cold seeped through her jeans.
Leo came up. He sat next to her.
"I should have been there," he said. "At the hospital."
"You were at work."
"I should have left."
"She wouldn't have wanted that."
"I know. But I should have been there for you."
She looked at him. His eyes were brown. The kind of brown that caught light.
"You're here now," she said.
"I'm here now."
They sat in silence. The water tank hummed. The city hummed.
"Maya."
"Yeah."
"We're going to be okay."
"How do you know?"
"Because we have to be."
She leaned her head on his shoulder. The sky was dark. The stars were bright.
---
The next morning, Maya went to Mrs. Patterson's apartment.
The key was cold in her hand. She opened the door.
The kitchen table. The folding chairs. The game show was off. The rosary on the wall.
She sat at the table. The tenant list was still there. Twelve names. Mrs. Patterson's name was at the top.
Eleanor Patterson, 3A. Here since 1987. Will fight? Yes.
Maya traced the letters with her finger.
"I'll fight for you," she said.
The apartment was quiet.
---
She went to the roof. She took the plastic sheet off the easel.
The painting was still there. Her face. The garden. The water tank. The painted eye. The small figure in the window.
But something was different. Leo had added something. A new figure. On the roof. An old woman, sitting on a milk crate.
Mrs. Patterson.
Maya stared at the painting. Her throat tightened.
Leo came up behind her. "I finished it last night. I hope that's okay."
She couldn't speak. She just nodded.
"I wanted her to be part of it," he said. "She was part of your story. Part of the building. Part of us."
Maya turned to him. She was crying now. She couldn't stop.
He held her. The wind blew. The water tank hummed.
---
That afternoon, she went to the facility to pack Mrs. Patterson's things.
The room was empty. The bed was stripped. The closet was bare.
But on the nightstand, a notepad.
Mrs. Patterson's handwriting. The last thing she'd written.
Maya –
The garden will grow back. The building will stand. You will be okay.
I love you.
— Eleanor
Maya folded the notepad and put it in her pocket.
She walked out of the room. She didn't look back.