Page 209 of ClickBack

I look toward the kitchen. The cupboard doors are open. The refrigerator has been cleared of almost all the pictures except one of Zion in a paper crown.

“Because I won’t be down the road.”

Her face changes, but she doesn’t let me out of the question.

“You weren’t going to be down the road forever.”

“I had thought longer than this.”

She sits back against the box. I can see how tired she is. She has finished school, found a job, looked for a house, and worked out a plan with her son’s father. I have asked enough questions to know all of that. I keep finding one more.

“I’m not saying don’t come,” she says. “I asked you to help. But help me pack what I haven’t packed.”

I look at the box I reopened.

“Fair.”

She reaches for the towels. I take one from the pile, fold it, and wait for her to tell me where it goes.

We work for a little while before I bring up Jeremy again. I hear myself doing it, and I still finish the question.

“He knows how long he’s staying?”

“Yes.”

“Because if his shift changes...”

“We’ve worked it out.”

“Things changed quite often when you were together.”

“We aren’t together.”

“I’m aware.”

“Then stop expecting me to make the same decisions I made when we were.”

I set the towel down. “I watched you make a lot of room for what he needed.”

“You did.”

“You were using your time off to cover things he should have handled.”

“I remember.”

“I kept Zion while you picked up shifts.”

“You did, Mama. I was there.”

I stop. She rubs her forehead, then looks up at me.

“You always helped. I never wondered whether you would. But sometimes I needed to tell you what happened without hearing all the other times I should have known better.”

“I never said you should have known better.”

“Not those words.”

I want to ask which words. I can already hear myself insisting that each one meant something kinder.