The feeling a person gets when the story they are being told does not quite match the story they are watching. I did not sleep well that night and then came Monday morning. I was still in my bathrobe when I heard the noise from the hallway. A dragging sound, then a bump, then Cynthia’s voice saying something sharp and low to Derek.
I opened my bedroom door. My suitcase, the large brown one Roland had bought for our trip to Portugal in 2004, was standing in the hallway, packed, closed. ‘What is this?’ I asked. Derek stood at the end of the hall. He looked at me for a moment with an expression I had never seen on his face before, or perhaps one I had seen and misread for something softer.
Then he said the words, ‘I will carry with me for the rest of my life.’ ‘Mom, we need the house. You should think about somewhere more appropriate for your situation. We can help you find a good place.’ ‘A good place?’ I repeated. You know, Cynthia said, appearing from the kitchen doorway, somewhere with support for seniors.