“She needs to come inside.”
“The Marriott on King Street has accessible rooms,” I said.
“There’s also a Hampton Inn near the expressway with elevators and good parking.”
“Both are close.”
“You cannot do this.”
“This is—”
She turned toward Brody.
“Tell her.”
Brody looked at the porch boards.
Maxine’s mother stepped forward.
She was a measured woman.
She looked at me across the threshold.
And I saw in her face that she had already understood the whole shape of it.
Not just this afternoon.
All of it.
The months of it.
And perhaps some things about her daughter that she had understood for longer than that.
“I am sorry for the confusion,” she said to me quietly.
“This was clearly a miscommunication on our end.”
“We’ll sort ourselves out.”
She put her hand on Maxine’s arm and drew her back.
Bianca had already started moving toward the rental car, her carry-on rolling over the porch stones.
Maxine stood still for one more moment.
She looked at Brody with an expression I will not describe because it is between a husband and wife and not mine to interpret.
I spoke directly to my son.
“Your things are in the spare room upstairs.”
“You have until the end of the month to let me know your plans.”
“You’re welcome to stay until then.”
I closed the door.
I stood in the hallway.
Outside, I could hear voices.
Maxine’s.
Then her mother’s.
Firmer.
Lower.
Then the sound of car doors.
The rental sedan went first.
Maxine’s car followed a minute later.
I watched its taillights from the window until it turned at the end of the block.
The house was completely quiet.
I went back to my reading chair.
The afternoon sun had shifted while I was at the door.
Now it came through the window at a low October angle, warming the arm of the chair and the cover of the book in my lap.