Chapter 4 - The First Sunday She Did Not Come
Chloe had come to my house every Sunday for twelve years.
When she moved to Atlanta, I moved from Baltimore to a small condo there after retirement? Wait she was in Atlanta while I taught Baltimore. I had not retired? Original says 30 years teacher in Baltimore, maybe I had recently retired and moved near her. Let's establish I retired at 57 and moved to Decatur. Good.
The first Sunday she canceled, I was surprised.
“Restaurant emergency.”
The second:
“Damian’s mother is visiting.”
The third:
“I’m exhausted.”
By fourth, I asked:
“Are you avoiding me?”
She laughed.
“No.”
Damian’s voice appeared in background.
“Who is it?”
Her tone changed.
“Mom.”
He said something I could not hear.
Chloe:
“I have to go.”
I told myself newlyweds needed space.
That was reasonable.
Then friends disappeared too.
Susan saw her first.
Susan and I had known each other since college at Towson.
She became an attorney in Atlanta.
I became teacher.
We stayed close through marriages, deaths, relocations.
One afternoon she called.
“I saw Chloe at The Hearth.”
“How was she?”
“Margaret, she looks ill.”
“What do you mean?”
“Thin. Pale. Hair pulled back. She kept rubbing her wrist.”
I defended my daughter’s marriage before I understood I was defending Damian.
“Restaurants are exhausting.”
“Margaret.”
“What?”
“She dropped a tray when Damian looked at her.”
Silence.
“Dropped?”
“She was carrying glasses. He walked out of office, and she physically startled.”
I remembered children in my classroom who did that.
Still, I said:
“Maybe they argued.”
Susan answered:
“Maybe.”
That word carried warning.
I drove to The Hearth next afternoon.
Damian met me before I reached kitchen.
“Margaret! Surprise.”
“I came to see Chloe.”
“She’s busy.”
“I’ll wait.”
He smiled.
“Lunch rush.”
There were seven tables occupied.
Not rush.
“Tell her I’m here.”
His smile tightened.
“Sure.”
Chloe appeared ten minutes later.
I barely recognized her.
Thirty-two years old.
Face too sharp.
Eyes dark.
A stain on uniform blouse.
“Mom.”
I hugged her.
She stiffened.
Not against me.
As though touch hurt.
“Are you eating?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sleeping?”
“Yes.”
“Are you happy?”
She said nothing.
Damian walked up behind her and placed one hand on her shoulder.
Chloe tensed.
“Tell your mother you’re fine.”
“I’m fine, Mom.”
A tear rolled down her cheek.
I stared.
Damian smiled.
“She’s emotional.”
I left.
That was my third failure.
But I did not drive home.
I parked across street.
Waited.
The dining room closed at ten.
Employees left in waves.
At eleven thirty, only kitchen lights remained.
At twelve fifteen, I saw a service door fail to close completely behind a delivery worker.
May you like
I went inside.
That decision changed everything.
