I smiled.
“Yes.”
Dad’s eyes filled, but he turned away before Noah saw.
At one o’clock, my mother arrived.
I had not known she was coming.
She stepped into the apartment carrying a cardboard box and wearing no makeup. Without lipstick, without pearls, without the armor of presentation, she looked almost unfamiliar.
Dad stiffened.
“What are you doing here, Margaret?”
She looked around the apartment.
The small kitchen. The bare windows. The boxes stacked against the wall.
Then she looked at me.
“I’m not here to fight.”
Noah immediately moved closer to my side.
My mother noticed.
Pain crossed her face.
For once, she did not act offended by the consequences of her own behavior.
She set the box down.
“These are David’s winter things. And some tools.” Her voice wavered. “I found his father’s hammer.”
Dad stared at her.
“You could have called.”
“I know.”
