She threw me a brief, assessing look that felt more like inventory than concern. “I expect you to handle things with discretion,” she added. “The family cannot be distracted.”
Jeremy had already moved to help with her bags, gentle as always. Muriel allowed him—no dramatics—and then she was out the door, gloved hand tucked into the crook of a chauffeur’s arm, silhouette impeccable against the dull morning.
I watched until the car was out of sight. The silence she left behind was a lot like her: polished, controlled, and entirely empty.
When I turned back inside, Jeremy was holding the foyer door open, shoes in a polite stack on his arm. He gave me that look again—less admonishing now, more like someone weighing what was coming next.
“I’ll set you up on the pool patio and bring lunch out at eleven-thirty if they are still here,” he said.
“Yep,” I answered. “Coop’s the wildcard.”
Jeremy’s mouth tightened. “You will handle it.” That wasn’t a suggestion. “Leadbyexample.”
I pocketed my hands, feeling the weight of his words and the echo of my mother’s leave-behind: more bags than usual, destination unclear, timing perfect. My mother’s departures were never messy. They were strategic exits. The note she left when she left was always a plan, not a goodbye.
Out back, the patio doors were open to the sunny morning with its humid air that said summer wasnotin the rearview mirror yet. I stared at the pool, not quite focusing on the water or the pool robot that was steadily cleaning. The low hum from the machine added to the occasional bird song and the faint drift of vehicle sounds from the road.
Then I pulled out my phone. Opened our last thread.
Frankie.
Still no response.
Unread. Or maybe just ignored.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard for a full minute before I started typing. Then deleted the whole thing. Tried again.
Me:
I know you're mad. You have every right to be.
Just... check in, okay?
Even if it's just one word.
I need to know you’re okay.
And if you’re not?
I’ll fix it. Whatever you need—I’ll do it.
Just say the word.
I stared at the screen, debating. Then hit send before I could stop myself.
The message dropped into the thread like a stone into deep water.
No response.
I didn’t expect one.
But still?—
I waited.
One second.
Five.
