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I peek into the oven and then at the clock: 7:46 p.m.
Where is he?
He hasn’t returned from the nursing home—hasn’t been home at all—and I’m trying so hard to give him some space, but I’m really worried about him. It’s a fine line between caring and smothering. I’m going to call him; I dial his number and wait as it rings.
“Hello, you’ve reached Henley James. Leave a message.”
My stomach drops. Fuck.
Why did I leave him at the nursing home? What on earth was I thinking?
I should have been there to support him. I should have stayed.
He was going to call security.
I feed Barry and fuss about some more. It’s 8:30 p.m. now, and still no sign. I call him again, and he answers on the first ring. “Hi.”
I close my eyes in relief. “Hi, babe, are you close?”
“Yeah, around the corner.”
“Okay, see you soon.” Thank god. I’ve been having a minor panic attack all day.
Ten minutes later, he drives onto the street and pulls into his garage. I peek through the curtains as I watch him walk over. I open the screen as he solemnly walks up the front veranda. He kisses me quickly as he walks past me into the house.
I roll my eyes as I pretend not to notice. He’s here. That’s all that matters.
He walks into the bathroom and washes his hands and comes back out. “Something smells good,” he says as he looks everywhere but at me.
“Hope you’re hungry?”
“Starving. I haven’t eaten since yesterday.”
My heart sinks. “Sit down, sweetie.” I pull a chair out for him, and he sits at the dining table. I begin to serve our dinner. I don’t know what to say or do. Do I bring it up, or do I pretend it hasn’t happened, like he is? “Did you do everything that you wanted to today?” I ask.
“Uh-huh.”
“We can go through the things over the weekend and sort them.”
“I’ve donated everything to charity.”
“What?”
“I dropped it off at the Goodwill store around the corner on the way home.”
My eyes well with tears as I serve the peas. He gave away all his father’s things.
“The photo albums?”
“Gone. I don’t want them.”
How could he?
He didn’t. Surely, he didn’t. Nobody is that cold.
Just stay calm . . . he’s pushing you on purpose. This is dysfunctional Henley James at his very best.
I put the plate of food onto the table in front of him.
