She’s been kind to Toby.”
My hand tightened on the phone.
“You knew.”
Nothing.
“Carol.
You knew about her.”
“Ryan mentioned her.
Some months ago.
I didn’t think it was my place to—”
“He told his mother.” I said it slowly, feeling the shape of it.
“He told you, and you said nothing to me.”
“I didn’t want to interfere in your marriage.”
“But you’re calling me right now to tell me I’m overreacting.”
Another silence.
Longer this time.
“I just think,” Carol said carefully, “that you should consider what you’re doing before you make any decisions.”
“I appreciate the call,” I said.
“Don’t call again tonight.”
I hung up.
Stood in the hallway for a moment with my back against the wall.
Ryan had called his mother before the front door had even closed behind him.
And his mother had known — for months, some months ago, however long that meant — and had sat across from me at Christmas dinner and asked about my job and passed the bread rolls and said nothing.
I went back to the kitchen.
“Who was that?” Toby asked.
He was back in his chair, fork in hand.
“Grandma Carol.”
“Is she coming over?”
“No, bud.”
“Good,” he said cheerfully.
“She always pinches my cheeks.”
I sat down.
Picked up my fork.
“Finish your pasta.”
After dinner I ran his bath, found his pajamas, listened to a detailed account of a disagreement at recess involving a handball and someone named Marcus who was apparently not to be trusted.
I tucked him in.
We read two chapters of his book — a story about a dog who could talk, which Toby found completely plausible.
I turned off his lamp and sat on the edge of his bed in the dark for a moment.
“Mom,” he said.
“Yeah?”
“Is Dani going to keep picking me up on Thursdays?”
I kept my voice even.
“No.
I’m going to handle Thursdays from now on.”
He was quiet for a moment.
“She’s nice,” he said.
“But I like it better when it’s you.”
I leaned down and kissed his forehead.
“Get some sleep.”
I closed his door and stood in the hallway.
Then I went downstairs, sat on the couch, and let myself cry.
Not loudly.
Just steadily, the way rain comes when it has been building all day.
I cried for the Thursdays.
For the 3:15 texts.
For the version of my marriage I had believed in completely and apparently been alone in believing.
FULL STORY on the next page.
