Chapter 13: Amy’s Work
In January Amy went back to part-time bookkeeping from home, the work she had paused when Teresa declared infant care a full-time moral duty owed to the household.
She set up a desk in the corner of the living room and laughed when she realized she did not need permission to buy a lamp. I watched her type with Frederick on a play mat and felt the past year’s shape more clearly: my mother had not only spent our money on seafood and jewelry. She had tried to spend Amy’s personhood as if it were a household utility.
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Ruiz called once more for a clarification on a date. The case was becoming file boxes and court calendars. Drama drained out of it, leaving procedure. Procedure had saved us. I thanked him. He said thank the evidence.
At night Amy stood in the doorway of Frederick’s room and said, “I still rehearse explanations when a plate clinks.” I said we could clink plates on purpose until the sound was only a sound. We did it, ridiculous and serious, two adults tapping ceramic while our son slept. The spell thinned
