Chapter 7: The First Calls
My mother called midmorning the next day.
I let it go to voicemail the first time. The second time I answered on speaker while Nathan was in the kitchen rinsing a bottle.
“We’re coming over,” she said. “Your father and I. We want to help. Properly this time.”
“Not today.”
“Claire. Don’t be like this. We made a mistake. We’re trying to correct it.”
“You can correct it by calling first and accepting when the answer is no. Today the answer is no. I have help. Lily is fine. I’ll let you know when a visit works.”
Her silence held a familiar mixture of hurt and frustration. “Is that man still there?”
“Nathan is helping with the lifts I can’t do. That’s all you need to know.”
“Your father doesn’t like this.”
“Dad liked hanging up on me more.”
I ended the call before the conversation could circle into the same justifications. Nathan did not comment from the kitchen. He set the clean bottle on the drying rack and glanced over only long enough to confirm I was stable in the chair.
Whitney texted an hour later.
I’m sorry about last night. I didn’t know they would refuse to leave.
I read it twice and did not answer immediately. Her apology was simpler than our parents’ and therefore harder to dismiss. I set the phone down and fed Lily the parts of the bottle I could manage while Nathan supported the weight I could not.
In the late afternoon I texted Whitney back.
May you like
I know. We’ll talk later. Not today.
It was the most I could offer without opening a door I was not ready to stand in.
