7:22.
Adrian took one bite.
7:24.
His phone vibrated again.
He closed his eyes.
My stomach sank.
Mom saw it too.
“Everything okay?”
“Yes.”
He answered too quickly.
7:26.
Adrian stood.
“Eleanor.”
No.
I knew before he said anything.
Mom slowly set down her fork.
“You have to go.”
He looked miserable.
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s my birthday.”
“I know.”
“Can you stay ten minutes?”
He looked toward the door.
“I really can’t.”
Mom’s expression changed.
It was not anger.
That would have been easier.
She looked embarrassed.
As though she suddenly realized the rest of us had been watching her believe in something.
Adrian leaned down.
“Please trust me.”
That was the wrong sentence.
Eleanor pulled slightly away before he could kiss her.
“Go.”
“Eleanor—”
“You’re already watching the clock.”
He looked devastated.
Then picked up his satchel.
At least I thought he did.
In the confusion, he apparently grabbed only his coat and keys.
He left.
The front door closed.
Nobody spoke.
The chocolate pie sat in the middle of the table.
Claire stared toward the window.
Mom folded her napkin.
“Well.”
She gave a brittle little laugh.
“Apparently seventy-two is when a woman finally learns not to compete with international phone calls.”
“Mom.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not.”
“I will be.”
Claire stood.
“I need some air.”
I looked up.
“Claire.”
“I’m just going outside.”
“It’s dark.”
“I’ll stay close.”
Before I could stop her, she grabbed her jacket and left.
Mom sighed.
“Let her go.”
“I don’t like that look.”
“What look?”
“The look where she believes she has solved a crime.”
That almost made Mom smile.
I began clearing plates.
Ten minutes passed.
Then twenty.
I texted Claire.
No answer.
“Now I’m calling her.”
Mom nodded.
Before I could, Claire finally replied.
I’m okay. Don’t leave the house.
My stomach dropped.
I called immediately.
She declined.
“Claire Bennett.”
Mom looked alarmed.
“What?”
“She’s doing something.”
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
Thirty-six minutes after she left, headlights stopped outside.
A car I recognized as belonging to my daughter’s best friend’s older sister pulled away.
Claire ran up the walkway.
She was crying.
Not dramatic teenage crying.
Her face was streaked.
Her breathing uneven.
I opened the door.
“Where have you been?”
She pushed past me.
Mom stood from the table.
“Claire?”
My daughter looked at Eleanor.
Then started crying harder.
“Grandma.”
Mom immediately crossed the room.
“What happened?”
Claire shook her head.
“He isn’t cheating.”
Everything stopped.
I stared.
“What?”
“He’s not with another woman.”
