He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small piece of blue chalk he used for his pool cue, turning it over and over in his palm until his thumb was stained bright blue.
“I’ll go to the grocery store after lunch,” I said, standing up from the table.
I walked back to the kitchen and stood over the sink. The soapy water had gone completely cold, and the crescent-shaped chip on the white stoneware plate looked like a tiny, pale mouth open in a scream.
I set the chipped plate in the drying rack and wiped my hands on the dish towel, the sound of the empty house suddenly too loud.
By two in the afternoon, the air inside the Oak Creek Savings and Loan felt heavy with the scent of floor wax and stale coffee. I handed my withdrawal slip to the young teller behind the counter, keeping my eyes fixed on her small brass nameplate.
“Two hundred forty dollars,” she said, her voice dropping as she looked at the screen. “Is that from the savings account, Mrs. Miller?”
“Yes, the savings,” I said, clearing my throat. My silver wedding band felt tight on my index finger, and I twisted it out of habit.
She tapped the keys. The screen showed my balance, which had dwindled down to four digits, most of it eaten by the retainer for the divorce lawyer.
“Here you go,” she said, counting out the twenties onto the polished wood. She looked up, her eyes softening into a sympathetic look that made me feel entirely exposed. “I hope the birthday party goes well this weekend.”
“Thank you,” I said, taking the bills.
I did not want her pity, nor did I want to explain why a fifteen-year-old’s grocery list required a portion of my remaining emergency fund. I slipped the cash into my purse and walked out into the bright Ohio sun.
On Main Street at three in the afternoon, the heat radiated off the concrete. I stood by the open trunk of my station wagon, lifting a heavy paper bag filled with hot dogs, paper plates, and two gallons of lemonade.
A silver sedan turned the corner, its polished chrome catching the glare.
I froze, holding a bag of charcoal against my ribs, waiting for the brake lights to glow red.
The car did not slow down. It swept past my rear bumper, Jordan’s profile visible behind the tinted glass for a single second. He was looking straight ahead, his chin tilted up, completely unaware that I was standing ten feet away on the sidewalk.
I set the charcoal in the trunk and slammed the lid.
By five that evening, the shadow of the garage had stretched across the backyard pool deck. Ethan was dragging the heavy iron patio chairs out from the shed, his shoulders hunched as he worked.
