Because what if what she was witnessing was the wake of the email alert—already? This was at least partially Caroline’s fault for triggering it.
“You had an argument?” she prodded, her own voice quivering.
“A spat.” Mom cleared her throat, but the tears kept coming. “I’m only tired. I was up all night—you know I get emotional when I’m tired.…”
But why on earth would he have shared it with Mom right away, without even verifying its validity? Unless he already knew.…
Not possible. Dad wasn’t perfect, but he was no deadbeat.
“Doesn’t look like a spat.”
That put her tears on pause. Mom took a moment to compose herself and when she spoke again, she was firm. “You should go. Thanks for the breakfast. It’s just not a good time.”
“I can’t leave you like this.”
“You certainly can.”
“Let me come in and make you some coffee.”
“You’re expected at work.”
She rocked the box of doughnuts side to side. “Aren’t you the one who taught me we get free passes on calories every time a guy acts like a jerk?”
“I don’t want to talk about it, Caroline.” It was telling, that she didn’t chastise her daughter’s word choice, and Caroline blanched. “And even if I did, you know how I feel about couples who drag their kids—”
“For Pete’s sake, Mom. It’s too late to scar me like that, okay?”
“It would scar me.”
She had her there. Caroline shrugged. “Don’t talk to me, then. Just let me make coffee.”
“I don’t even want coffee,” she muttered, losing steam.
“Liar.” The woman ran on the stuff, her one true vice, morning, noon, and night.
With a heavy sigh, she turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Caroline in the doorway. “Let me put some clothes on.”
“Take your time.” Caroline shut the door behind her. Now that she was inside, coming here seemed an even worse idea than it had obviously been from the start. She flipped on the overhead light and blinked into the sudden brightness. In her childhood, this entryway had been shabby chic, with well-worn hardwood and rose-patterned wallpaper, but now gleaming white tile and fresh paint reflected the new LED light to an artificial effect. Mom had fretted that the house should be ready for resale, lest Fred’s health decline to the point where a condo without upkeep made better sense. She never complained that in the interim, the renovations meant living in a space that didn’t suit her.
In the eat-in kitchen, Caroline placed the doughnuts in the center of the farmhouse table and opened the box invitingly. Yesterday’s dregs remained in the coffeepot, and she cleaned the carafe and filter, then filled the brewer to capacity. As the percolator putted and hissed in the empty room, she set out mugs and small plates and rifled through the pantry in search of napkins. Anxiety twisted her gut as she strained for the sounds of Mom’s return. She no longer knew what would be worse: leaving here without knowing what had gone on, or finding out.
There were no napkins to be found, and the paper towel holder sat empty. Extras were usually shelved in the garage. She crossed to the far end of the galley and pulled open the door.
Her hand flew to her throat. There, standing in the dim light, was Dad. Through the open bay behind him, his old Buick was parked next to her van.
“Dad! You scared me.”
He shifted from one foot to the other, and she got the feeling she’d caught him debating whether to come in after all. “Sorry, sweetheart. It’s these new garage doors. Eerily silent, aren’t they?”
“What are you—I mean—”
“I saw your Honda. I had a feeling …
“That coffee does smell good,” Mom called behind her. Caroline turned to find her bent over the doughnuts, looking marginally better: She’d washed her face, pulled her hair into a neat nub of a ponytail, and traded her nightgown for a fitted velour jogging suit. She swiped a pastry and took a swift bite.
“Heart-healthy, my ass,” she said, half-smiling. Then she looked past Caroline and stopped mid-chew.
“I asked you to leave.” Instantly, the strain returned to her voice, the tears again a breath away.
Dad looked stricken but held his ground. “Hannah, listen to me.”
“I’ve listened enough!”
Caroline slunk backward, but no matter how she angled herself, she remained caught in the middle. Literally.
“Why is she here?” he asked calmly, tossing his head in Caroline’s direction as he filled the doorway.
“She brought your beloved doughnuts.”
He faced his daughter. “Is that all?”
“Don’t bring her into this!” Mom was verging again on hysteria.
“I saw the van,” he shot back, “and had a bad feeling. That she might have also gotten…” His words trailed off, and then both pairs of eyes were on her. She swallowed hard.
“An email?” she ventured.
Mom burst into tears.
* * *
“I saw it first,” Mom whispered, tossing an accusatory look at her spouse. “If I hadn’t, who knows if he ever would have shown me.”
“We still don’t know there’s anything to show, Hannah.” He was matching his wife’s exhaustion point for point, but without the anger to fuel it, he just looked older than usual. They’d formed an awkward triangle at the kitchen table, though no one had made a move to fill the mugs. The heart-shaped doughnuts mocked them from the box. He turned to Caroline. “We saw it at the same damn time. When it came into my phone, she was on the computer. She puts in for these sweepstakes. Uses my email address so she can enter twice.”
“You need to go into the in-box for that?” Caroline asked. Stalling, really.
Mom looked defensive. “You do if you want extra entries for sharing, liking their social media—”
“You never told me you were doing all that,” he interrupted. “No wonder I’m flooded with irrelevant ads.”
“Somebody’s got to win,” she snapped. “Might as well be me.”
“Or Dad,” Caroline added.
“Same thing.” At that, Mom buried her face in her hands and started to cry again.
Dad cleared his throat, turning to Caroline. “So you got this same—notification?”
This did not seem the time to admit she’d had a hand in sending the thing. “Not until I logged on. What I got was a note from her. Sela.” It was odd to see two people wince so fiercely at such a musical name. A sea, followed by a song. Across the table, Mom dropped her hands and stared. “I can show you…”
They shook their heads in unison.
She focused on Dad. “Is there any chance this could be true?”
He looked away. “I’d need to know more.”
“I have it all here in her email. Her mother’s name, where she lives—” She stopped, realizing what he’d said. “If you need to know more, the answer is yes. There’s a chance.”
In the silence that followed, her cell phone began to croon at full volume with Walt’s ringtone: “It Had to Be You.” He’d programmed it as an inside joke. She yanked it from her pocket and silenced it mid-note.