A dark sedan on the opposite side of the street.
I’d opened the screen door and called, “Mom?”
She had turned quickly.
Too quickly.
I hadn’t thought anything of it.
“She came back inside,” I whispered.
Douglas nodded.
“I watched you put your arm around her.”
My eyes burned.
“You should have crossed the street.”
“I know.”
“You should have knocked.”
“I know.”
“You should have called my name.”
“I know, Ruthie.”
I stood.
I couldn’t sit anymore.
I walked to the window.
Below us, headlights moved along the hospital entrance.
People were living ordinary evenings.
Someone was buying coffee.
Someone was bringing flowers.
Somewhere, another sixty-year-old woman probably thought she understood the shape of her own life.
“I waited for you,” I said.
Behind me, Douglas didn’t speak.
“I didn’t know I was waiting. That’s the stupid part.”
My hands pressed against the windowsill.
