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<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
At 7:24 on Sunday evening, Richard looked at his watch for the fourth time. I know because I had started counting. He was seated across from my mother at her dining-room table, one hand curled around a water glass, the other resting beside a plate streaked with gravy. Mom was telling him about the basil plants she had nearly killed during a heat wave, and Richard was smiling in all the right places, but his attention had begun to drift toward the clock above the china cabinet. Six minutes remained before the ritual departure none of us were supposed to call a ritual.<\/p>\n
My fifteen-year-old daughter, Chloe, caught me watching him. She lifted her eyebrows, tapped two fingers against the face of her wristwatch, and mouthed, \u201cHere we go.\u201d I gave her the warning look mothers develop after years of preventing teenagers from saying exactly what everyone else is thinking. Chloe responded by lowering her gaze to her potatoes. The corner of her mouth twitched. She had inherited my father\u2019s inability to conceal an opinion and my mother\u2019s talent for making silence feel louder than speech.<\/p>\n
Richard turned back to Mom. \u201cGrace, that roast was incredible.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was a little dry.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt was perfect.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou say that every week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause every week you refuse to believe me.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom smiled, and there it was again\u2014the expression that made resisting him complicated. Eleven years after my father died, happiness had returned to her face so gradually that at first I almost missed it. Richard had not simply made her laugh. He had reminded her that there were still reasons to wear earrings on an ordinary Sunday and put perfume behind her ears when no one was celebrating anything.<\/p>\n
At seventy-two, my mother had surprised all of us by falling in love.<\/p>\n
At fifty-two, Richard had surprised me by becoming the man she loved.<\/p>\n
They had met through the neighborhood gardening club. According to Mom, Richard had stopped beside her plot one Saturday morning and told her that anyone who could grow tomatoes that large deserved either a medal or an investigation. She thought he was ridiculous. He came back the following week carrying coffee. By the end of the month, sunflowers started appearing on her porch. Two months later, he noticed the loose railing beside her front steps and repaired it before she could hire anyone.<\/p>\n
He remembered details, which was one of his more dangerous qualities. He knew Mom preferred tea weak and coffee strong. He remembered that Chloe hated vanilla ice cream but would cross a freeway for mint chocolate chip. He knew I worked late on Thursdays and sometimes brought enough takeout for three people without making a production of it. When Mom mentioned that one of the cabinet hinges squeaked, Richard quietly fixed that too. A man who notices small things is difficult to distrust without feeling unreasonable.<\/p>\n
And yet every Sunday, he left at exactly 7:30.<\/p>\n
Not approximately. Not usually. Exactly.<\/p>\n
The first few times, there had been perfectly sensible explanations. He had work to finish. A friend needed help. He had promised to make a phone call. Someone was coming by his house. I noticed the pattern only after perhaps the fifth or sixth dinner, when Mom carried a lemon tart from the refrigerator at 7:28 and Richard rose before she could cut it.<\/p>\n
\u201cI wish I could stay.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom had laughed then. \u201cDessert will survive without you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo will I, barely.\u201d<\/p>\n
He kissed her cheek and left.<\/p>\n
The next week he did it again.<\/p>\n
And the week after that.<\/p>\n
Now six months had passed, and Richard had never eaten dessert with us.<\/p>\n
That evening, the clock moved to 7:25. Richard glanced toward the hallway, where his brown leather tote rested against the umbrella stand. He brought that bag every Sunday. It was soft from use, darker around the handles, and large enough to hold documents or a laptop. I had never seen him open it in our house. He always carried it inside and always left with it tucked firmly beneath his arm.<\/p>\n
Chloe saw me looking at it.<\/p>\n
She whispered, \u201cMystery bag.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEat.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI am eating.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re investigating.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI can multitask.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom looked between us. \u201cDo I want to know?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
\u201cYes,\u201d Chloe said simultaneously.<\/p>\n
Richard laughed. \u201cThat sounds ominous.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNothing ominous,\u201d I told him.<\/p>\n
Chloe stabbed a carrot. \u201cMom thinks you\u2019re Cinderella.\u201d<\/p>\n
I closed my eyes.<\/p>\n
Mom nearly dropped her fork.<\/p>\n
Richard blinked. \u201cI\u2019m sorry?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you always have to leave before the magic hour,\u201d Chloe explained with cheerful precision. \u201cExcept yours is seven-thirty instead of midnight.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat? It\u2019s cute.\u201d<\/p>\n
Richard chuckled, although a faint stiffness appeared near his eyes. \u201cI suppose I do keep odd hours.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery Sunday,\u201d Chloe said.<\/p>\n
Mom placed her napkin on the table. \u201cEnough.\u201d<\/p>\n
The single word settled the room. Chloe looked down. Richard cleared his throat and smiled as though none of it mattered. I wanted to apologize, but that would have required pretending Chloe had invented the question rather than saying aloud what I had been wondering for weeks.<\/p>\n
At 7:27, Richard stood.<\/p>\n
There were three minutes left.<\/p>\n
\u201cGrace, sweetheart, I hate to rush off, but I told my neighbor I\u2019d check on him tonight. Arthritis in his hands. He has trouble opening his medication bottles.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom\u2019s expression softened immediately. \u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
I hated myself a little for noticing how convenient compassion could sound when used as an excuse.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s kind of you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
Richard reached for his tote. \u201cHe\u2019s a good man. Just getting older.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chloe stared at her plate with extraordinary concentration.<\/p>\n
Richard kissed Mom, thanked me for dinner, told Chloe not to let history homework ruin her evening, and stepped through the front door.<\/p>\n
The clock above the cabinet clicked to 7:30.<\/p>\n
Chloe waited until his car started.<\/p>\n
Then she looked at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cSeven. Thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot one word.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI used two.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe.\u201d<\/p>\n
She got up and began stacking plates. \u201cYou know I\u2019m right.\u201d<\/p>\n
I glanced toward Mom. She was still seated, tracing one fingertip around the rim of her water glass. For one unguarded second, the pleased glow she wore around Richard disappeared. Something tired crossed her face. Hurt, perhaps. Or suspicion. Then she noticed me looking and stood too quickly.<\/p>\n
\u201cWho wants coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n
That was my mother\u2019s way of closing a subject.<\/p>\n
I followed her into the kitchen. She turned on the faucet and began rinsing plates before I had decided how gently I could ask what I wanted to ask. Through the window above the sink, Richard\u2019s headlights appeared at the corner, then swung left.<\/p>\n
Chloe wandered in carrying glasses and froze.<\/p>\n
\u201cThere,\u201d she said.<\/p>\n
I looked at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe went south.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom\u2019s hands stopped beneath the running water.<\/p>\n
I turned toward the window. Richard\u2019s taillights were already disappearing.<\/p>\n
\u201cHe lives north,\u201d Chloe continued.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe he\u2019s stopping somewhere.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cEvery week?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019ve been watching?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shrugged. \u201cSometimes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I looked at Mom.<\/p>\n
She kept washing the same plate.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDon\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI haven\u2019t said anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou\u2019re about to.\u201d<\/p>\n
I leaned against the counter. \u201cHave you ever been to Richard\u2019s house?\u201d<\/p>\n
She shut the faucet off.<\/p>\n
The sudden quiet felt deliberate.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy does that matter?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cBecause you\u2019ve been dating him for six months.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo you know where he supposedly lives, but have you actually been there?\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom dried her hands. \u201cHe prefers coming here.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat wasn\u2019t my question.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her mouth tightened.<\/p>\n
Chloe, sensing an argument large enough to require adult privacy, picked up the glasses again. \u201cI\u2019m going upstairs.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThank you,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n
She reached the doorway, then glanced at her grandmother. \u201cFor what it\u2019s worth, Grandma, I like him.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom\u2019s face softened.<\/p>\n
\u201cI just don\u2019t like whatever he\u2019s not telling you.\u201d<\/p>\n
Then she disappeared.<\/p>\n
I stared after her. \u201cShe inherited subtlety from somebody else.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou trained her well.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
She sighed and folded the dish towel with unnecessary care.<\/p>\n
\u201cNo,\u201d she said. \u201cI haven\u2019t been inside Richard\u2019s house.\u201d<\/p>\n
I had expected the answer. Hearing it still changed something.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhy?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019s private.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cPrivate about his house?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbout his life.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat sounds less reassuring when you say it aloud.\u201d<\/p>\n
She placed the towel on the counter. \u201cAvery, he was alone for years before he met me. People get used to living a certain way.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cDoes he have roommates?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChildren?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAn ex-wife nearby?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe was never married.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen why can\u2019t you visit him?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t say I can\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou said you haven\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s different.\u201d<\/p>\n
I studied her face. My mother was a terrible liar but a gifted defender of things she wanted to believe. Her chin rose when she felt cornered. She was doing it now.<\/p>\n
\u201cDo you know what he does after he leaves here?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
I waited.<\/p>\n
She looked away.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe has responsibilities.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat responsibilities?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe doesn\u2019t always explain every detail.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou just answered my question by not answering it.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her eyes flashed. \u201cI am seventy-two years old. I don\u2019t need my daughter conducting a background investigation on the man I\u2019m seeing.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not conducting anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot yet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat\u2019s unfair.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIs it? You\u2019ve been suspicious since the first time he came to dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat isn\u2019t true.\u201d<\/p>\n
It mostly wasn\u2019t. When Richard first appeared, I had been relieved. Mom had spent more than a decade moving through a house designed for two people as though preserving my father\u2019s absence were part of loving him. She still kept his old gardening gloves in the garage. His shaving mug remained beneath the bathroom sink. For years she refused invitations that came in pairs because arriving alone felt like announcing something she had never agreed to.<\/p>\n
Then Richard came along.<\/p>\n
Mom began humming again.<\/p>\n
That mattered more than I wanted to admit.<\/p>\n
She had hummed constantly when Dad was alive\u2014while making breakfast, pruning roses, searching for misplaced reading glasses. After his funeral, the music stopped. I did not notice until one afternoon eleven years later when I walked upstairs and heard a Sinatra melody drifting from her bedroom.<\/p>\n
I found her standing before the mirror in a red dress I had never seen.<\/p>\n
She was fastening pearl earrings.<\/p>\n
Dad\u2019s pearls.<\/p>\n
\u201cMom?\u201d<\/p>\n
She turned. \u201cToo much?\u201d<\/p>\n
I nearly cried.<\/p>\n
Instead I said, \u201cYou look beautiful.\u201d<\/p>\n
She rolled her eyes. \u201cIt\u2019s dinner, Avery.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou bought a red dress for dinner.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m allowed.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cObviously. I\u2019m just trying to process this historic event.\u201d<\/p>\n
She laughed.<\/p>\n
That laugh bought Richard months of patience from me.<\/p>\n
Now, standing in the kitchen after another precisely timed departure, I wondered whether my gratitude had made me careless.<\/p>\n
\u201cI want you happy,\u201d I told her.<\/p>\n
\u201cI am happy.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI know. That\u2019s why I\u2019m worried.\u201d<\/p>\n
Her expression changed.<\/p>\n
\u201cThose two things don\u2019t belong in the same sentence.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThey do when somebody you care about might be hiding something.\u201d<\/p>\n
She turned back toward the sink.<\/p>\n
For several seconds neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then she said, quieter, \u201cMaybe everybody hides something.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNot like this.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHow do you know what \u2018this\u2019 is?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t. That\u2019s the problem.\u201d<\/p>\n
Mom rested both palms on the counter.<\/p>\n
When she finally faced me, the anger was gone.<\/p>\n
What remained unsettled me more.<\/p>\n
She was afraid.<\/p>\n
Not of Richard, exactly.<\/p>\n
Of losing what Richard had given her.<\/p>\n
\u201cSuppose you\u2019re right,\u201d she said. \u201cSuppose he has some secret. Suppose it\u2019s disappointing. Can I please discover that in my own time?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI spent eleven years waking up beside an empty pillow. Eleven years having people tell me I was strong when what they meant was that I had gotten good at being lonely without inconveniencing anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
I said nothing.<\/p>\n
She swallowed.<\/p>\n
\u201cRichard makes me laugh. I look forward to Sundays again. Maybe that sounds pathetic to you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cIt doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThen let me have it.\u201d<\/p>\n
There was nothing dramatic in the way she said those words. That made them harder to argue with.<\/p>\n
I reached for another plate and dried it.<\/p>\n
\u201cAll right.\u201d<\/p>\n
She glanced sideways. \u201cAll right what?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI won\u2019t interrogate him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou shouldn\u2019t interrogate anyone.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI said Richard.\u201d<\/p>\n
That earned the faintest smile.<\/p>\n
But as we worked, I kept thinking about the direction his car had turned.<\/p>\n
South.<\/p>\n
Away from the address he had given Mom.<\/p>\n
Later that night, Chloe found me sitting alone on the front porch.<\/p>\n
The neighborhood was quiet except for sprinklers clicking somewhere across the street. She lowered herself beside me and tucked her knees beneath the oversized sweatshirt she wore even in warm weather.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou fought with Grandma.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe discussed things.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat means yes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cShe\u2019s entitled to make her own choices.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chloe watched the empty street.<\/p>\n
\u201cEven if somebody\u2019s lying to her?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe don\u2019t know he is.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cMom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou taught me that when people give five different explanations for the same behavior, the explanations aren\u2019t the reason.\u201d<\/p>\n
I stared at her.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen did I teach you that?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhen Aunt Melissa kept borrowing money.\u201d<\/p>\n
I sighed. \u201cI regret raising an observant child.\u201d<\/p>\n
She leaned her head against my shoulder.<\/p>\n
For a minute, neither of us spoke.<\/p>\n
Then she asked, \u201cDo you think he has another woman?\u201d<\/p>\n
The question sounded uglier spoken aloud.<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnother family?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cA secret gambling problem?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWhere are you getting these?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cInternet.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cOf course.\u201d<\/p>\n
She lifted her head. \u201cWhatever it is, Grandma knows something is wrong.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd she\u2019s pretending she doesn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYes.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chloe looked toward the intersection where Richard vanished every Sunday.<\/p>\n
\u201cHer birthday is next week.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m aware.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cHe\u2019ll do it again.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAt seven-thirty.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cProbably.\u201d<\/p>\n
She pulled at a loose thread on her sleeve.<\/p>\n
\u201cWhat if we find out where he goes?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cI didn\u2019t even finish.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou didn\u2019t need to.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe could just\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cNo.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFollow him.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cAbsolutely not.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFrom a safe distance.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cStill no.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou want to know too.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThat doesn\u2019t make stalking your grandmother\u2019s boyfriend a good plan.\u201d<\/p>\n
She gave me a long look.<\/p>\n
\u201cIt might make it an effective plan.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe.\u201d<\/p>\n
She stood.<\/p>\n
\u201cI\u2019m not doing anything.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a face.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cSo do you.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou have a specific face when you\u2019re planning something.\u201d<\/p>\n
She smiled innocently. \u201cGood night, Mom.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cChloe.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cLove you.\u201d<\/p>\n
She opened the door.<\/p>\n
I caught her wrist before she went inside.<\/p>\n
\u201cListen to me. Whatever you\u2019re thinking, don\u2019t do it. Grandma\u2019s birthday is next Sunday. She deserves one uncomplicated evening.\u201d<\/p>\n
Chloe looked down at my hand, then at me.<\/p>\n
\u201cAnd after?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cWe\u2019ll deal with Richard after.\u201d<\/p>\n
She considered that.<\/p>\n
I thought I had won.<\/p>\n
Then she said, \u201cI\u2019m tired of watching Grandma get lied to.\u201d<\/p>\n
Before I could answer, she slipped inside and closed the door.<\/p>\n
I remained on the porch.<\/p>\n
At the end of the street, headlights passed the intersection and disappeared south.<\/p>\n
For no sensible reason, I imagined Richard\u2019s leather tote on the seat beside him.<\/p>\n
And for the first time, I wondered whether the important question was not where Richard went every Sunday.<\/p>\n