There was always a flight, a deadline, a client dinner, or a call he could not move.
Gertrude defended him longer than I did.
“He works hard,” she would say.
“He has people depending on him.”
“He’ll slow down when this deal is over.”
The deal was never over.
There was only another deal waiting behind it.
In the ER, I pressed my forehead against the edge of her mattress and cried until my chest hurt.
I cried for her.
I cried for the son who was not coming.
I cried for the woman I had become while trying to make his absence look respectable.
Then Gertrude’s fingers moved.
At first, I thought it was a reflex.
Her hand tightened around mine with a sudden strength that startled me upright.
Her eyes opened.
They were tired, but clear.
She fixed them on my face as if she had been waiting for one final moment when I would stop looking at the door.
