Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Lorraine stopped visiting. She also stopped calling Sophie and commenting on wedding pictures, and began sending Jesse messages he answered with both thumbs while his dinner cooled. When Sophie asked what she wanted, he said she was giving them space.
On a rainy Tuesday, Sophie found him standing in the hall with his jacket half on. Their dinner was on the table, and the candles she had lit were burning beside two bowls of pasta.
“Where are you going?” she asked. She held the pepper mill in one hand.
“Mom’s porch light is out,” he said. “I’ll be twenty minutes.”
Sophie looked toward the dining room. “It’s raining,” she said. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow?”
“She doesn’t like the steps in the dark.” He pulled the jacket over his shoulder. “Dad said he couldn’t find the bulb.”
“Your dad knows how to buy a light bulb,” Sophie said. She put the mill on the hall table because she could feel herself gripping it too tightly.
“I know.” Jesse looked tired. “I’ll just do it and come back.”
“Call him. Ask if it needs doing tonight.”
He stared at her, then took out his phone. Hank answered quickly, and Jesse asked about the light while Sophie stood close enough to hear Hank’s voice through the speaker.
“Tomorrow’s fine,” Hank said. Something metallic clattered in the background. “I told your mother I’d get it in the morning.”
Jesse looked at Sophie. He thanked Hank and ended the call, but his hand stayed on the zipper of his jacket.
“Then sit down,” Sophie said. She went back to the table and waited.
He joined her after a minute. They ate in silence until his phone lit up beside his bowl, and Sophie watched him read a message without picking it up.
“What did she say?”
“Nothing,” he said. Then he saw her expression and turned the phone toward her.
Don’t worry about me. I’ll use the back door if I can get it open.
“Her back door worked on Sunday. I watched her use it.”
“It sticks when it rains,” Jesse said. He looked toward the window, where water ran down the glass.
Sophie pulled her bowl toward her and ate while it was still warm. Across the table Jesse managed three more bites, then pushed his chair back. She kept eating until he asked whether she was going to say anything.
He was gone an hour. When he returned, Sophie had put the food away and gone upstairs with a book she wasn’t reading. He came into the bedroom carrying a plate covered in foil.
“She sent cake,” he said. He set it on the dresser, then seemed to realize how it looked.
Sophie turned a page. “Put it in the kitchen,” she said. “There are ants up here when it gets warm.”
He took the cake downstairs. Sophie heard a cupboard close, then his footsteps returning, slower on the last few stairs.
“She had a few other things,” he said from the doorway. “I couldn’t leave with everything out.”
Sophie closed the book with her finger inside it. “What things?”
“Boxes. She wants the Christmas stuff brought down.” He leaned against the frame. “Dad’s knee was bothering him.”
“You told me you were changing a bulb.” She laid the book on the floor. “I would have eaten while it was hot.”
He came into the room and sat on his side of the bed. The mattress dipped, rolling her a little toward him, and she moved back against her pillow.
“I should’ve called,” he said. He began untying his shoes.
“Yes,” Sophie said. She turned off her lamp and listened while he worked the second knot loose in the dark.
On Sunday, they went to Lorraine’s for dinner because Jesse asked three times in three different ways. Finally, while Sophie was brushing her hair, he asked whether they were really going to stop having dinner with his parents over cupboards.
“You were there when I unpacked everything.” She set the brush down hard enough to knock over a bottle.
He leaned against the doorframe. “Then come and see if she behaves,” he said. “Please. One dinner.”
Sophie wore the blue sweater Lorraine had once admired and bought flowers on her way from a brief stop at the museum. Jesse met her outside his parents’ house in his truck. Before they went in, she asked if they could leave by nine, and he said of course.
Lorraine met them at the door with a smile. She kissed Jesse, admired his haircut, and took Sophie’s flowers with both hands.
“How thoughtful.” Lorraine examined the paper around the stems. “The supermarket has improved their flowers so much.”
Bethany arrived behind them carrying her toddler and a bag with one strap torn loose.
Lorraine took the child before Bethany had finished apologizing for stopping by, put him on her hip, and found the red cup he liked without asking anyone where it was.
He reached for her necklace, and she let him hold it while she listened to Bethany describe a miserable afternoon at the walk-in clinic.
“Have you eaten?” Lorraine asked. She drew a plate from the cupboard with her free hand. “Sit down. Hank can put a chair in the kitchen.”
Bethany sat so abruptly that Sophie wondered whether she might cry.
Lorraine brought her bread and a plain piece of chicken, then walked the child around the kitchen while she ate.
She remembered the name of the doctor Bethany disliked and the medicine that made the boy spit up.
Sophie found herself asking whether he had a fever, and for ten minutes they talked over his head as if they were women who enjoyed being in the same room.
When Bethany left, Lorraine packed enough food for the next day. Jesse helped carry it to the car, and Sophie followed with the torn bag, holding the bottom closed against her hip.
“She’s been wonderful,” Bethany said quietly. She buckled the child into his seat while he reached toward Lorraine through the open door. “This week, I don’t know what I’d have done.”
Sophie handed over the bag. Lorraine waved until the car turned out of the drive, then went inside ahead of them, collecting a stray child’s sock from the path.
“She won’t let anyone else put him down for his nap,” Jesse said. He sounded pleased, and Sophie almost asked whether Bethany had ever tried. She followed him inside without saying it.
Lorraine was rinsing the child’s cup when Sophie came into the kitchen. She held it up, inspecting the little spout, then took a brush from the drawer and started again.
“Bethany never gets a minute,” she said. She set the cup upside down on a towel. “Her mother’s back is bad, and the other grandmother thinks keeping a child means sitting him in front of the television.”
“She said you’d been a huge help.” Sophie leaned the flowers against the sink. Lorraine had left them in their paper while she fed the child.
“I like having him.” Lorraine found the kitchen scissors and cut the elastic around the stems. “I always wanted another. Hank said we couldn’t afford it, then bought that motorbike the next spring.”
Sophie didn’t know what to do with the information. She had seen a photograph of Hank on the bike, Jesse sitting in front of him in a helmet much too large for his head, and had thought they looked happy.
“How old was Jesse?” Sophie held the vase while Lorraine filled it.
“Eight. Old enough to want to be out with his father.” Lorraine put the scissors away with the stems still uncut. “Don’t tell Jesse I said that. He’ll think I’m complaining about him.”
Sophie wanted to ask whether she’d spoken to Hank. She could hear both men through the open window discussing something beneath the truck’s hood, and the answer seemed likely to keep her in this kitchen for the rest of the evening.
“These need cutting,” she said instead. She pointed at the flowers, and Lorraine fetched the scissors again without answering.
Dinner began well enough. Hank asked about the exhibition, and Sophie told him about a painting that had arrived in the wrong crate. Jesse listened, smiling when she described the curator’s attempt to remain polite, and Lorraine passed the potatoes without interrupting.
Then Lorraine set a small dish in front of Sophie. The sauce was pale and thick, flecked with herbs.
“I made yours separately,” Lorraine said. “I remembered you don’t like things too rich.”
Sophie touched her fork to the sauce. “Is there cream in this?” she asked.
“Just a little,” Lorraine said. She began cutting her steak. “It needs it.”
Sophie put down the fork. Dairy had made her ill since her twenties, a fact Lorraine had been told at birthdays, holidays, and two previous dinners where Sophie had eaten bread while everyone else finished.
She had brought her own food once, and Lorraine had called Jesse the next day to say she felt judged in her own home.
“I can’t eat cream,” Sophie said flatly.
Lorraine looked up, surprised. “I thought you just preferred not to,” she said. “There are so many things to remember now.”
Jesse put his own unadorned piece of steak onto Sophie’s plate. “Take mine,” he said. He reached for the dish in front of her.
Sophie let him exchange them. Lorraine passed her the potatoes without mentioning the sauce, and Hank asked Jesse about a truck repair. Sophie cut a bite of steak and concentrated on swallowing it.
After dinner Lorraine brought a small box to the table. She set it beside Jesse’s coffee and touched his shoulder.
“An overdue wedding present,” she said. “Something just for you.”
Jesse looked at the box. “Mom, you already gave us a check,” he said.
“That was for the house, or whatever you two decide,” Lorraine said. She pushed the box closer. “This is from me.”
Inside was a watch. Sophie recognized the brand from a window Jesse sometimes stopped at downtown, though he always said he would ruin anything that expensive at work. He lifted it carefully, surprised and visibly pleased.
“You shouldn’t have,” he said. He turned it over, and Lorraine leaned close enough to touch his arm.
“Read the back,” she said. Her smile softened.
Jesse read it silently. Sophie watched his expression change, just slightly, before he put the watch down.
“What does it say?” Sophie reached for it before he could answer.
The engraving was small but clear. To the man I can always count on. All my love, Mom.
Sophie turned the watch over. It was a beautiful thing, and she could imagine Jesse wearing it at dinner with her, pushing back his cuff to see the time. She had looked at one like it last Christmas and left the shop without asking to take it out of the case.
“Put it on,” Lorraine said. She reached for his wrist. “Let me see.”
Hank drew the box toward him to read the little booklet inside. Lorraine took it from him and placed it beside Jesse’s plate, then lifted the watch from Sophie’s palm and fastened it around her son’s wrist.
“Now you’ll think of me when you’re wearing it,” she said. Her thumb rested over his pulse. “My boy. I always know you’ll come when I call.”
Jesse made a small, embarrassed sound. Sophie waited for him to free his hand, but Lorraine was turning his wrist toward the light, and he let her.
Hank began gathering the coffee cups. Sophie still had half of hers left and moved it out of his reach.
“He can’t always come,” Sophie said, watching Lorraine’s hand around his wrist. “Sometimes we’re doing something.”
“Am I meant to engrave a timetable on the back?” Lorraine asked. Hank laughed into his coffee, and Jesse smiled before he saw Sophie’s face.
“You could put our dinner reservations in there,” Sophie said. “Save me paying for any more of them.” She picked up the booklet.
“Sophie, leave it,” Jesse said. He held out his hand for the booklet, and she put it down beside the empty box.
Lorraine began collecting the cups. She took Sophie’s while it was still half full and asked Hank to put the chairs away when everyone had finished.
Sophie stood. Her chair scraped against the floor, loud enough to make everyone look at her, and she could feel the old pressure to sit down and rescue the evening. She picked up her bag instead.
“Thank you for dinner,” she said. She looked at Hank because looking at Lorraine would make her say more.
Jesse rose halfway. “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice tight.
“Home,” Sophie said. She put on her coat. “You have your truck.”
Sophie left before he could decide whether to follow. She sat behind the wheel watching the porch, then started the engine when Jesse still didn’t come out.
He arrived ten minutes after she did. Sophie was taking off her earrings in the bedroom, and she watched him appear in the mirror with the watch box in his hand.
“You brought it.” Sophie set an earring beside the lamp.
“I didn’t know what to do with it,” he said. He put it on the dresser. “She was crying.”
“I was sitting right there. You saw my face.”
“I told her she shouldn’t have said that,” Jesse said. “You’d gone by then.”
“Did you enjoy the coffee?” Sophie asked. She had left half of hers on Lorraine’s table, and he had stayed long enough to finish his.
“What?” Jesse looked at her in the mirror. She took off her other earring without answering.
“Nothing.” She took both earrings into the bathroom and closed the door to find a cotton pad. By the time she came out, he’d put the watch away.