“Ah, you must be the interpreter. Vivienne’s mother mentioned you at dinner the other night.” Bryce affixed his sunglasses to the collar of his shirt. “Are you fishing with us today, Thomas?”
“I didn’t get the invite.”
“No? Next time, then.” He leaned in as though sharing a secret. “My plans with Vivienne today don’t involve an interpreter, if you catch my drift.”
Ugliness twisted Thomas’s insides. “I don’t,” he said coldly.
At the ice in his tone, some of Bryce’s friendliness faded. He glanced up at the house and then back at Thomas. “Sweet gig you landed for yourself this summer. You live in the house with Vivienne? Must be pretty close quarters.”
“It’s a big house,” said Thomas.
“Not that big,” argued Bryce.
Before Thomas could ask what, exactly, Donahue was implying, the front door opened and Philip emerged, a drink in hand and his face shaded under a braid hat.
“Donahue! Fashionably late, as usual. I see you’ve met Walsh.” His smile was friendly, yet uninviting. “Walsh was just heading out, weren’t you, son?”
Thomas knew how to take a hint. “Sure.”
“I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around,” said Bryce, heading for the house. “We’ll talk shop.”
“Looking forward to it,” lied Thomas, just as the front door swung shut. He stood rooted to the spot, nursing a red, inexpressibe anger, until a flash of pink on a second-story balcony drew his gaze. He glanced up just in time to see Vivienne wrench the curtains shut.
She didn’t reappear.
He arrived home three hours later to find the fridge stocked—surprising—and the kitchen table stacked with mail—unsurprising. His sister was out—most likely working as a counselor at the day camp down the street. He spent some time sorting through bills, separating the piles into what he thought could be ignored and what couldn’t. When that was done, he went upstairs to see his mother.
He hated going into her room. It felt more like a living tomb these days. She used to sleep with the curtains open, determined to wake with the sun—pretending to be surprised when Thomas and Tessa crawled into bed with her before the dawn. She’d click on a cartoon and lift up her covers, let them snuggle in close for a few extra minutes of rest.
Now, the television was on, but his mother was asleep. He wasn’t surprised. Her energy came in transient bursts. The fridge being full meant she’d gone grocery shopping this week. Outings like that often brought on a physical crash. The last time she’d gone into town on her own, she hadn’t come home. He’d found her asleep in her car, groceries spoiling in the trunk.
He took a seat in the rocking chair by her bed—the one that used to be in his nursery, back when he was still small enough to be rocked to sleep. It creaked beneath him as he settled in to watch the movie she’d chosen. It was hours before she woke. She came to slowly, as though emerging from a hypersleep. At the sight of Thomas sitting there, her face lit up in a heart-aching smile.
“I was dreaming about you,” she said, falling into her usual sign-supported speech. “I was wondering when you’d come home.”
“I have the weekend off.” He bent in to kiss her cheek, signing as he did. “I’ll mow the lawn while I’m here.”
“Your uncle has been mowing the lawn.”
“Uncle has his own things to take care of. I’ll do it, it’s no problem. And that front step is wobbling again; I’ll fix that while I’m here so you and Tess don’t twist an ankle.” He paused and then added, “And I’m going to set up a weekly grocery delivery.”
“Tommy.” She signed the family’s name for him, pressing aTto her heart. “I can do that on my own.”
Can you?he wanted to ask, but he bit his tongue. He didn’t want to get in a fight. Not when they had so little time. She shifted, propping up her pillow so she could face him head-on. Her hair hung in a long braid, blonde shot through with gray. For several minutes, she smiled over at him.
He fidgeted under her stare. “What?”
“You’re too big for that chair.”
“It’s not a very big chair.”
“It’s just that you used to look so small in it.” It was a thing she did, waxing nostalgic about the past, back when he and Tess were little and she was still master of her own body. It was easy to do—she kept everything. His father used to call her a pack rat, a moniker she vehemently denied.I’m a memory keeper, she told him once.It’s the most important job a mother can have, once her little ones are too grown for cuddles.
Now, she yawned. “I wish you didn’t have to go so far.”
“It’s a good job. I couldn’t pass it up.”
“It’s not your responsibility to take care of us, sweetheart. You know that, right?”
