I told Mark I was prepared to sign the retirement papers
afterward because I was exhausted and wanted our financial future settled.
That part made him especially happy.
He kissed my forehead.
The same mouth that had kissed my son’s wife.
I smiled.
At seven that evening, Mark opened a bottle of expensive wine.
Jenna arrived wearing cream-colored trousers and carrying flowers.
For me.
“Carol,” she whispered, eyes swollen, “I’m so ashamed.”
I hugged her.
She stiffened in surprise.
“You’re family,” I said.
Her eyes filled with tears.
For one second, I wondered if some part of her pain was real.
Then I remembered the hotel.
Dinner was surreal.
Daniel spoke softly to Jenna.
Mark kept pouring wine.
I served pot roast.
We discussed weather.
Work.
A broken fence.
It was like four actors performing a play in a burning theater.
After dessert, Mark brought out the papers.
