“Chloe.”
“I love her too, Mom. That’s all I’m saying.”
She stood up, kissed the top of my head as if I were the teenager, and went inside.
I sat on the porch a while longer, staring at the street where Richard’s taillights always disappeared.
“I’m tired of watching Grandma be lied to.”
***
Mom fussed with her hair in the hallway mirror for the third time. I could tell she was nervous. It was her 72nd birthday, and she wanted the night to be perfect.
“You look gorgeous,” I told her.
“I look like a woman who’s trying too hard.”
“Grandma, you look like a woman who’s trying just enough,” Chloe called from the couch. “There’s a difference.”
I could tell she was nervous.
***
The doorbell rang at 6 p.m.
Richard stood there with a dozen roses in one hand, a wrapped gift in the other, and that leather tote of his tucked under his arm as if it were surgically attached.
