“I really can’t. I’m so sorry.”
“I have to go.”
He leaned down, kissed her cheek, grabbed the tote, and was out the door before anyone could stop him. The pie sat there on the table like a witness to a crime.
Mom sat down slowly. She picked up her fork, set it back down, and folded her hands in her lap.
“Mom, are you okay?”
“I’m fine, honey.”
She wasn’t fine. I knew she wasn’t, and she knew I knew.
“Mom, are you okay?”
Chloe watched Richard through the window.
A moment later, my daughter stood up abruptly. “I need to run out. I’ll be right back,” she mumbled.
“Chloe, wait, it’s dark out.”
“Don’t worry, Mom.”
The door slammed. I stared at it, then at my mom, then at the untouched pie.
“Well,” Mom said with a brittle little laugh. “That’s one way to end a birthday.”
“He’s an idiot.”
