I’ve waited at the curb so long, I don’t have time to drive home and back. I’ll let Robbie wait at home—if that’s where he is—for a while longer so he can cool off.
Instead I run into town to check on Pam. The outside door for the stairwell to her apartment is locked. She’s probably at her yoga class in Grand Rapids, which is about a forty-five-minute drive away from Stanville.
Thinking I might collect some paperwork, I use my key to let myself into The Tearoom. It closes at three-thirty every day. It’s only four now, so the air is still rich with the mingled aromas of coffee, herbal teas and cinnamon. I breathe deeply, appreciating now why this place means so much to my mother.
Even empty, it’s still abuzz with the chatter from the day, the gossip, which was probably mostly about me. Really, Pam owes me. If not for my incident at Smiley’s, folks would have all been talking about her separation.
I wonder how long it took Bulletin Bill to spill the news about me to the deputy. Not long, I’m sure. But I bet Westmoreland wasn’t surprised. What does surprise him? He was solemn but not upset the night he brought me the news about Rob.
Westmoreland’s not from here, but he’s lived in Stanville long enough to be accepted. A few years? I can’t remember when he came or where he’s from, probably a big city where he’s seen far more than a heart-attack-induced traffic accident.
For him that was routine.
For me, it was the end of every routine I’ve ever known.
I glance at my watch, then lock the door as I leave to pick up Claire. She grunts when I ask her how her lesson went. That’s still better than the silent treatment from the morning. Not much, but better.
The house is quiet when we step inside. Some of the bags by the back door are missing. That’s good. Robbie’s already begun to put some of it away, tantrum over as quickly as mine had passed in Smiley’s. Robbie’s still my mild-mannered boy.
“Call your brother for dinner,” I tell Claire, as I open the fridge and bring out the seasoned strips of steak and chicken, which I’ve already sautéed. They just need to be popped into the microwave for a quick reheat. I reach for a plate on the counter when my sleeve brushes against something that rustles. A folded piece of paper with “Mom” scrawled across it.
I pick up the note and unfold it.
“Since you’re getting rid of everything that reminds you of Dad, I figure you’re going to get rid of me next. So I’m saving you the trouble.”
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