Chương 5
Julian lowered the phone.
“I clear old messages.”
Elena gave a faint nod.
“Of course you do.”
“Don't.”
“I didn't say anything.”
“You don't need to.”
He turned away from her and faced the portrait.
The room became very quiet.
Outside, a truck passed.
Somewhere upstairs, the old pipes knocked once.
Julian looked smaller with his back to them.
For years Elena had seen the tailored jackets, the restaurants, the effortless decisions, the certainty with which he spoke to receptionists and bankers and waiters.
Now she saw a boy in a house he had escaped and expected to remain unchanged for him.
He touched the edge of the memorial table.
His fingers moved toward the coffee cup.
Elena said, “Don't.”
He froze.
“That was hers.”
Julian looked at the cup.
“It's fresh.”
“I know.”
“You made it today?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Elena had no answer that would sound reasonable.
So she told the truth.
“Because she liked coffee.”
Julian gave a small breath that might have become laughter in another life.
Instead it broke halfway out.
He sat down in the armchair.
The chair had been Eleanor's.
Elena almost told him to get up.
She did not.
Chloe stood by the doorway.
The baby had gone quiet.
After a while Chloe said, “I need to feed him.”
Elena pointed down the hall.
“Kitchen. There's a chair near the window.”
Chloe hesitated.
“Thank you.”
Julian looked up.
“Chloe.”
She did not look at him.
“I need a minute.”
“Elena's trying to turn you against me.”
Chloe stopped.
She turned slowly.
“No,” she said. “You're doing fine by yourself.”
Then she carried the baby into the kitchen.
Julian watched her leave.
Elena felt tired.
Not triumphant.
That annoyed her.
She had imagined this moment too many times during sleepless nights.
In some versions, Julian wept.
In others, he apologized.
In a few ugly ones, Elena said something so precise and devastating that he would finally understand every ounce of pain he had caused.
Reality offered her a man sitting in his dead mother's chair with his expensive watch catching candlelight.
Nothing about it felt clean.
“Where is she?” he asked.
Elena understood.
“The ashes?”
He nodded.
“Upstairs.”
His head lifted sharply.
“You kept them here?”
“She asked to stay until you came home.”
Julian's face tightened.
“What?”
“She didn't want me to bury them before you could decide whether you wanted part of them.”
“You're saying she knew I wouldn't come to the funeral?”
“No.”
Elena thought of the last week.
Eleanor barely conscious.
The paperwork on the kitchen table.
The question of burial.
Cremation.
Her son.
“She knew you might not answer.”
Julian stood.
“Where upstairs?”
“Elena.”
“Where?”
“Your old room.”
That was the first thing that made him cry.
Not much.
His eyes filled before he could stop them.
He turned away immediately.
Elena hated that she noticed the effort.
Hated that part of her still knew how he preferred to grieve without witnesses.
Hated that compassion could survive so much damage.
He walked toward the stairs.
Elena let him go.
Halfway up, he stopped.
“Did she suffer?”
It was the question everyone eventually asked.
Elena considered lying.
Then she remembered Eleanor saying, Don't make him better for me.
“At the end, no.”
Julian nodded.
He climbed the rest of the stairs.
Chloe remained in the kitchen for almost twenty minutes.
Elena stayed in the living room.
She heard cabinets open.
Water run.
A spoon against ceramic.
The sounds were so normal they made the afternoon stranger.
At one point the baby laughed.
A small bubbling sound.
Elena's stomach tightened before she could stop it.
She looked at Eleanor's portrait.
“Don't,” she whispered.
She did not know whether she was speaking to Eleanor, herself, or the life she had imagined and failed to have.
The word failed made her angry again.
She went to the kitchen.
Chloe sat near the window with the baby against her shoulder.
Her orchid had fallen onto the table.
Without it, she looked less glamorous.
Younger.
More tired.
A bottle stood beside a mug of tea.
“I hope that's okay,” Chloe said.
“The tea?”
“I used a mug.”
Elena leaned against the counter.
“Eleanor owned twelve mugs. I think she planned for guests.”
Chloe looked down.
“I didn't know her name until eight months ago.”
Elena said nothing.
“Julian called her Mom. I knew she lived in Queens.”
Still nothing.
Chloe shifted the baby.
“He told me you two barely spoke.”
Elena almost smiled.
“Of course he did.”
“I know how that sounds.”
“How does it sound?”
“Like I'm trying to make myself less guilty.”
Elena appreciated the answer.
“Yes.”
Chloe nodded.
“I probably am.”
The baby made a sleepy noise.
Chloe rubbed his back.
Elena looked at the child's tiny hand resting against red fabric.
“You knew he was married.”
“Yes.”
No excuse.
That surprised her.
“He said it was over.”
“It wasn't.”
“I know that now.”
“You knew enough then.”
Chloe looked up.
There was no defensiveness in her face.
Only exhaustion.
“Yes.”
Elena folded her arms.
That answer made anger more difficult.
She would have preferred denial.
“I don't expect you to forgive me.”
“I won't.”
Chloe nodded again.
“Okay.”
Elena looked toward the ceiling.
No footsteps.
Julian was still upstairs.
“What did he tell you about Eleanor?”
“That she was difficult.”
Elena gave a short laugh.
“She was.”
“He said she controlled him.”
“She tried.”
“He said she never liked anyone he dated.”
“She liked me.”
Chloe winced.
Elena regretted the cruelty as soon as she said it.
Not enough to take it back.
Chloe looked at the baby.
“He told me she wanted a grandson.”
Elena's jaw tightened.
“She wanted him.”
Chloe met her eyes.
“What?”
“She wanted Julian.”
The kitchen became still.
“She wanted her son to call her. She wanted him to come home. She wanted him to stop sending flowers after appointments and actually sit beside her.”
May you like
Chloe looked away.
Elena continued before she could decide not to.
