Constance’s smile flickered. She wasn’t sure whether my mother was joking. The truth was, my mother was completely sincere. She loved pockets. She considered fashion mostly a waste of time and money, and the fact that this dress had pockets genuinely pleased her. Dinner went smoothly enough. Robert dominated the table with stories about golf and the stock market and the trip to Italy he and Constance were planning for the spring. My mother listened politely, ate what was on her plate, and complimented the turkey even though I knew I had slightly overcooked it. David floated through the room playing host, refilling glasses, making sure everyone had seconds. Then, over dessert, Constance turned toward my mother.
“So, Marta, how is the hospital treating you these days?”
“It’s fine.”
“You must be thinking about retirement soon. You’ve been there quite a while, haven’t you?”
“Thirty-one years.”
“That’s remarkable. All those years on your feet. It must take a toll.”
“I manage.”
Constance nodded sympathetically.
“Well, you’ve certainly worked hard. No one could say you haven’t earned a rest.”
I watched my mother’s face. It didn’t change. She was very good at that. But I saw her hands tighten ever so slightly around her coffee cup.
“I don’t like rest,” my mother said. “Rest is for when you’re dead.”
Robert laughed too loudly.
“That’s the spirit. I always say the same thing. Robert Senior worked until he was seventy-five and he was sharp as a tack right up until the end.”
“Marta isn’t like your father, dear,” Constance said, patting his hand. “She’s had a very different life. Some people just aren’t cut out for leisure. They wouldn’t know what to do with themselves.”
I opened my mouth. I don’t know what I meant to say, only that something had to be said, and then I felt David’s hand close around mine under the table. A warning squeeze. Don’t. My mother set her cup down.
“You’re right,” she said evenly. “I wouldn’t know what to do. Playing golf, going to parties, spending money I didn’t earn. It would be very boring for me.”
The table went quiet.
“More pie?” I heard myself asking too brightly. “Robert, you said you wanted more pie.”
Later, after Constance and Robert left, I found my mother at the sink doing dishes even though I told her to leave them.
“She didn’t mean it like that,” I said.
My mother turned off the water and dried her hands. Then she looked at me with an expression I still can’t entirely name.
“Yes, she did,” she said. “And so did you.”
That winter, David started coming home late. At first I didn’t think much of it. His business was expanding. He had taken on two new agents and was looking at a downtown commercial property that could double his office space. He seemed stressed, but he said it was a good kind of stress. Growing pains. Then the late nights got later. He would miss dinner and apologize. Then miss it again the next night. He stopped talking about work over breakfast, which had once been our habit, him running through his day, me asking questions, offering ideas, playing the sounding board he had once insisted no one else could replace. Now he just stared at his phone and grunted when I asked how things were going. One night in February, I woke up at two in the morning and found him sitting in the kitchen in the dark.
“David?”
He jumped.
“What are you doing up?”
“I heard something.” I pulled my robe tighter. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Go back to bed.”
“You’ve been doing this a lot.”
“Doing what?”
“Not sleeping. Not talking to me. Coming home after midnight and barely saying hello.”
He ran a hand through his hair. In the dim light from the stove hood, he looked older than usual, tired in a way sleep wouldn’t fix.
“Work stuff. I’ll figure it out.”
“What kind of work stuff?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Then uncomplicate it. Talk to me.”
He stood there in silence for so long I thought maybe he wasn’t going to answer, and then he said:
“The Brennan deal fell through.”
I knew about the Brennan deal. It was a huge office building acquisition near the university, something he had been working on for months. The commission alone would have been substantial.
“When?”
“Last month.”
I stared at him.
“Last month? Why didn’t you tell me?”
