"Eat, Mom."
She picked up her fork, then put it down, picked it up again.
We'd toured another memory care facility on Tuesday. Clean rooms, activities calendar posted in the hallway, staff who spoke in those careful, gentle tones. The director had walkedus through everything from meal schedules to medication management and how they handled late-stage dementia.
Dad had waited until we got to the parking lot to break down.
I'd driven us home in silence, his shoulders shaking in the passenger seat, while he tried not to let me see him cry.
This was why I’d come back, to help carry this. And yet, I couldn’t stop thinking of Elena. The way she’d calmed Mom down at the grocery store. The way she'd looked at me in the parking lot… It hadn’t been pity on her eyes, but something else. Grief, maybe.
She’s a good one, Elena. She still cares,Dad had said after we got home.I could see it.
What if he was right? I pushed the thought away and grabbed my keys.
"Heading out," I said.
Dad looked up. "Be safe."
Mom lifted her head and, for just a second, her eyes focused. "Matthew?"
"Yeah, Mom?"
"You look nice." A small smile. "I'm proud of you."
Something twisted in my chest. "Thanks, Mom."
The moment passed, and she went back to staring at her eggs.
The day stretchedout in the way slow days always did. I spent most of the morning on Route 19, with its farmland and empty roads. I had nothing but my thoughts and the gray sky pressing down to keep my company.
Then, a speeding ticket on Highway 4. A fender bender outside the diner, nobody hurt, just insurance cards exchanged.A late lunch at my desk with coffee that had been sitting since morning.
My phone sat next to my keyboard, and I kept looking at it. Elena's contact was still there. Same photo from four years ago: her laughing at something I'd said, sunlight in her hair, back when we were still us.
I could just text her and ask to talk. It’d be just coffee. Something simple, easy, and honest. I could say the words, couldn’t I? I could do it.
I still love you. I never stopped. If there's any chance?—
My hand moved toward the phone, then stopped.
What if I was wrong? What if the grocery store was just Elena being kind, and I was taking Dad’s words too seriously? What if I was about to make a fool of myself? What if Elena looked at me with pity and saidplease don't do this?
I pushed the phone away, my heart kicking against my ribcage.
When I headed out again at four o'clock, the sky had darkened. Wind bent the trees along Route 19, leaves scattering across the road. The radio kept updating the storm warning: heavy rain expected after six, seek shelter, stay off the roads if possible.
I drove past the turn that led to Elena's apartment and kept going. Came back around and drove past again.
At five, I headed back to the station.
Foster was on his way out, keys jangling. "You coming to Miller’s Tap? Half-price wings."
"Can't tonight."
"You sure? It's half-price."
"Got something I need to take care of."
