Chapter 23 Matt
Mom was having a bad morning.
I knew it the moment I came downstairs and saw Dad's face. He was at the stove, scrambling eggs with the kind of focused intensity that meant he was trying not to think about something else.
"Morning," I said.
"Morning." He didn't look up. "Your mother's in the living room."
I poured coffee and went to find her.
She was sitting in her chair by the window, still in her bathrobe, staring out at the yard. The TV was on but she wasn't watching it.
"Morning, Mom."
She turned to look at me. Her eyes searched my face for something she couldn't find.
"Good morning," she said finally. Polite and distant, the way you'd greet a stranger.
I sat down on the couch across from her. "How'd you sleep?"
"Fine, thank you." She looked back at the window. "Are you here to fix something?"
My throat tightened. "No. I live here. I'm Matthew. Your son."
"Oh." She nodded slowly, like she was trying to place me. "Matthew. Yes."
But I could see it in her eyes. She was agreeing because that seemed like the right thing to do.
Dad appeared in the doorway. "Breakfast is ready, Carol."
"Oh, wonderful." She stood up, still looking at me with that careful confusion. "Will you be joining us, young man?"
"Yeah," I said. My voice came out rough. "I'll be joining you."
We ate breakfast. Dad kept up a steady stream of conversation, talking about the weather, the neighbor's dog, anything to fill the silence. Mom responded occasionally, pleasant but vague, like she was at a dinner party with people she'd just met.
When she excused herself to go upstairs and get dressed, Dad and I sat at the table without speaking.
"She'll have a better day tomorrow," he said finally. "Yesterday she remembered the name of our old dog. Brought up Rusty out of nowhere, clear as day."
I nodded. Didn't trust myself to speak.
"You should go," Dad said. "I've got it handled here. You'll be late for your shift."
"I can stay—"
"Matthew." He looked at me, tired in a way that went deeper than sleep. "Go to work. I need you to go to work."
So I went.
The station was quiet when I walked in. I logged into the system, checked the patrol assignments. Route 12 today. Standard.
I grabbed my keys and headed out, stopping at the gas station on the edge of town for coffee. The good kind, not the station sludge.
The place was busy with the morning rush. I got in line behind two guys in work boots, one of them complaining about a delayed shipment.
"—gonna have to push the timeline. Can't do shit without the materials."
"Call Wright. He's always got extra stock."
"Wright's booked solid through next month."
"Damn. Everyone wants him."
"Saw him at the lumberyard yesterday. Had Dr. Whitaker with him."
"Elena?"
"Yeah."
A pause. "No shit."
"Looked cozy."
"Good for her. Heard the ex was a piece of work."
"Yeah, well." A shrug. "Onward and upward."
They shuffled forward. I stared at the back of their jackets and didn't move.
The clerk looked at me. "What can I get you?"
"Large coffee. Black."
She poured it, handed it over. I paid and walked out.
In the patrol car, I sat with the engine off, the coffee untouched in my hand.
A piece of work.
That's what I was to them. Just the guy who'd messed it up.
I started the engine and drove to Route 12.
The day passed the way days did. A wellness check on River Road, a noise complaint on Maple Street, paperwork at the station. The coffee went cold on my desk.
When I got home, Dad was making spaghetti. Mom was at the table, cutting up vegetables for the salad. She looked up when I walked in.
"Hello," she said. Pleasant, no recognition.
"Hi, Mom."
She went back to the carrots.
I washed my hands at the sink. Dad handed me a wooden spoon without a word, and I took over stirring the sauce while he drained the pasta.
We moved around each other easily, the kitchen choreography we'd developed over the past few weeks.
Mom hummed something while she worked, a tune I didn't recognize but Dad seemed to. His shoulders relaxed slightly.
Dinner was quiet. Mom asked polite questions about where I worked, if I was from around here, whether I liked the weather. Dad answered for me sometimes, gently redirecting when she got confused about whether we'd already eaten.
After she went upstairs to watch TV, Dad and I did the dishes.
"She thought you were the mailman this morning," he said after a while. "Asked if you had a package for her."
"What'd you say?"
"Told her the mail already came. She seemed satisfied with that." He dried a plate and set it in the cabinet. "It's easier when I don't correct her. Just go with whatever she thinks is happening."
I nodded and kept scrubbing.
"You okay?" he asked.
I thought about Mom not knowing my face. About overhearing strangers talk about Elena and Caleb like it was old news.
"Yeah," I said. "Just tired."
Dad knew I was lying, but he didn't push. Just handed me another dish.
"Get some sleep, son."
I went to bed.
The lamp on the nightstand still had Elena's hair tie wrapped around it. Purple, faded. She'd left it there one night after sneaking in through my window. That was senior year.
I turned off the light.