“Depositing only?” the teller asked. Due to the check amount and possibly the fact that my account was newer, I had to deposit in person.
“Yes, thank you.”
“Great.” She did her business and handed me the receipt for our transaction, which I examined and then tucked safely into my wallet. My nest egg was smaller, but my immediate problems were solved.
Or so I thought, until I returned home from the bank to find my ex-husband’s Audi parked in my driveway.
Chapter 22
Elijah scooted forward in his seat, straining against his seat belt, and clutched the dashboard. “Is that Grandpa’s car?”
Eric’s ebony-brown arm was draped along the driver’s-side doorframe. You live with a man for thirty years, you know the curve of his arm, the way it rests like it owns the space around it. A part of me wanted to think it wasn’t him, that I was imagining things. I checked the license plate to confirm what my own eyes had seen. “Sure is him.”
My stomach clenched as my mind spiraled, conjuring possibilities faster than I could shut them down. My first thought was that my ex-husband must be dying. Or at least sick. And he had come to either make peace with me or beg me to take care of him. The next thing I considered was whether or not we should be buried together.Why didn’t I think of this before?And my children—bless their hearts—losing their father at such an early age. Eric Jr. would surely fly home soon.
My throat felt lumpy, full of rocks.Calm down. Talk to him first.
“Why is he here?” Elijah had his own worries, his voice tinged with an unmistakable nervousness. It wasn’t just curiosity; there was a quiver beneath his words.
“Let’s find out.”
Eric watched Elijah and me through his side-view mirrors as we exited my car. Is he in pain? All the instincts I’d mastered throughout our marriage reignited. Instinctively, I wanted to take care of him. I guess that’s what happens when you’re programmed to take care of others.
The sweat on Eric’s forehead said he’d been waiting outside for a while, though being hot never bothered him. We argued constantly over thermostat settings.
I stopped at his open window. “Hello.”
“Hello.” He barely looked at me. His jaw was tight. Angry.
My sickness theory dissipated. “What are you—”
“Hey, Grandpa!”
“Hey, EJ! Good to see you. Missed ya, buddy.”
Elijah smiled sheepishly. “I’ve just been…you know…taking care of Grandma. You came to visit us?”
“Need to talk to your grandmother for a minute.” He moved to unfurl himself from his vehicle, so I took a step back and gave him space. I had not seen my ex-husband since the previous Thanksgiving holiday, when we briefly crossed paths at Terri’s house. I ate with her, my son-in-law’s family, and Elijah first, at 12:00 p.m., mainly because she needed help with the final touches.
Eric Sr. came over at 3:30. He wasn’t due to arrive until 4:30, but he’d said he’d wanted to be situated for the NFL pregame show.
Terri was both embarrassed and infuriated that her father and I were taking different “shifts,” as she called them. I was staying in my coworker’s guesthouse at the time. “Can’t you both act civilized so I don’t have to stagger serving people on Thanksgiving Day?”
“He’s the one who didn’t want to eat with the rest of us,” I reminded her.
Seeing Eric at my grandmother’s home felt like an invasion. How dare he show up in my Robin Creek world without a life-threatening disease? “Is everything okay?”
Eric stood erect now and shoved his hands into his jeans pockets. “You tell me, Joyce. How are you?” I detected a hint of sincerity in his voice, like he thought maybe I was the one sick.
“I’m fine.”
“Can we go inside?”
“What’s this about, Eric?”
“Inside. Please. I’ve been baking in this sun.”
It wasn’t like him to use the wordplease, at least not with me. Despite my apprehension, I let him inside the house and escorted him to the kitchen, where he accepted my offer for a glass of sweet tea.
