I unlocked it and pressed his name for the sixth time, holding the receiver to my ear and holding my breath.
The phone did not even ring before the flat, digital voice told me the mailbox was full and could not accept new messages.
I set the phone on the coffee table, right next to the empty space where Ethan usually left his pencil sharpener.
Richard walked into the room, his shoes making no sound on the thick wool rug.
He walked over to the sideboard where the silver coffee pot sat on its tray, its metal surface polished to a high shine.
He lifted the heavy pot and poured a stream of dark coffee into his ceramic mug, the rich scent of it filling the room.
“He will be back by dark,” I said, staring at the glass coffee table.
Richard took a slow sip, his face completely smooth as he looked out the bay window at the front lawn.
“He will go where he pleases, Mary,” he said, his voice quiet and even. “But he will not sleep under my roof again.”
“He is your son,” I said. “He has nowhere else to go.”
“He is an adult who made his choice,” Richard said, setting his cup down on the wooden coaster with a small, sharp click.
“We cannot just leave him out there,” I said. “It is going to rain before evening, and he only has that thin jacket.”
Richard picked up the afternoon paper from the armchair and sat down, smoothing the front page with the flat of his hand.
“He will find out how difficult the world is without my bank account,” he said.
I looked at the silver coffee pot, its polished surface reflecting the empty room, and felt a cold drop of doubt settle deep in my chest.
I wondered if Richard was right, if I was indeed too soft, or if there was something else driving his sudden anger.
At six o’clock, the yellow kitchen clock hummed on the wall above the refrigerator, the plastic hands pointing exactly to the hour.
I had set three plates on the dining table out of habit, but I took one back and placed it in the sink, where it clattered against the porcelain.
Richard sat at the head of the table, his fork and knife moving with silent, mechanical precision.
“Where is he supposed to sleep tonight, Richard?” I asked, my hands pressed flat against the cool laminate of the counter.
He did not look up from his plate.
“He is nineteen,” Richard said. “He has friends.”
“He doesn’t have anyone who can take him in without warning,” I said, my voice rising just enough to make him pause.
Richard set his fork down, his eyes narrowing as he looked at me across the empty table.
“It is not our problem anymore,” he said.
“He has no money,” I said. “How is he going to eat?”
Richard picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth, his movements slow and deliberate.
“He should have thought about his stomach before he decided to question my expenses,” he said.
I stood frozen by the sink, the hum of the yellow clock filling the kitchen.
“What expenses, Richard?” I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it.
He looked at me for a long moment, his eyes cold and dark, before he stood up and pushed his chair back.
“I do not have to explain my finances to you, Mary,” he said.
He walked out of the kitchen, leaving his half-finished plate on the table.
I walked over to the back door, where the small rug was still damp from the morning dew.
I looked down at the empty space where Ethan’s boots usually sat by the door.
The fluorescent lights of the Elmwood grocery store buzzed with a low, constant hum that made the skin behind my ears itch. I stood in the baking aisle, staring at three different brands of flour without seeing any of them, my fingers resting on the cold metal handle of my shopping cart. A woman with two small children brushed past me, her daughter clutching a plastic doll, and I had to turn away.
“Mary, you look like you haven’t slept in a week,” Caroline said, her voice cutting through the grocery store drone.
My sister stopped her cart right next to mine, her car keys tapping a fast, erratic rhythm against the plastic handle. She was wearing her green nursing scrubs, smelling faintly of antiseptic soap and spearmint gum, her eyes scanning my face.
“I slept fine,” I said, my hand instantly moving to rub the gold band on my ring finger.
“Don’t do that,” Caroline said, pointing at my hand with her keys. “You only rub that ring when you are trying to convince yourself of a lie.”
