I woke up before everybody else.
That was nothing unusual.
For most of my married life, I had been the first person awake.
I went downstairs and started the coffee.
The house was quiet.
I looked at the kitchen counter.
The pizza box sign was gone.
I remembered the oldest grandson taking it upstairs.
I hoped he hadn't been thinking about it all night.
I poured myself a cup.
Then I prepared something for his mother.
She liked her breakfast simple.
I carried it to her room.
She was already awake.
"Morning, Libby-girl."
"Good morning."
I set the tray down.
She looked toward the doorway.
"Is he up?"
"Not yet."
She nodded.
I helped her sit more comfortably.
Then I fixed the blanket around her legs.
She reached for my hand.
"Did you sleep?"
"A little."
She gave me a look.
She knew me well enough to understand that wasn't a real answer.
I smiled.
"I'll be fine."
She didn't argue.
Instead, she asked me to open the curtains.
I did.
The morning light came through slowly.
For a while, we talked about ordinary things.
The weather.
The boys.
What she wanted for supper.
Then she asked about Roscoe.
"Has he said anything?"
"Some."
"Did he apologize?"
I paused.
"He talked."
She looked at me.
"That's not what I asked."
I almost laughed.
Even after everything, she still knew how to make a point.
"No. Not properly."
She sighed.
"That boy has always been stubborn."
I sat beside her.
"He isn't a boy anymore."
"I know."
She looked down at her breakfast.
"I suppose that's part of the problem."
I didn't know what to say.
After a moment, she asked for her coffee.
I handed it to her.
She took a careful sip.
Then she looked at me again.
"Don't let him make you feel responsible for this."
I nodded.
I had heard those words before.
But I needed to hear them again.
A little later, Roscoe came downstairs.
He looked as though he hadn't slept much.
He stood in the kitchen doorway.
"Morning."
I answered him.
He looked toward his mother's room.
"Is Ma awake?"
"Yes."
He walked down the hallway.
I heard him knock.
Then he entered.
I stayed in the kitchen.
I made breakfast for myself.
I didn't prepare his plate.
That might sound like a small thing.
It was.
But I had spent years doing things automatically.
I would make his coffee.
Set out his food.
Ask whether he wanted anything before he left.
That morning, I did none of it.
Not to punish him.
I simply wasn't ready to act as though everything was normal.
When he returned, he looked toward the counter.
"Is there coffee?"
"In the pot."
He poured himself a cup.
Then he sat down.
For a while, he watched me.
I kept eating.
Finally, he spoke.
"Ma's upset."
"Yes."
"She won't even look at me."
I put down my fork.
"She heard what you said."
He nodded.
"I know."
He took a drink.
Then he said he had been thinking about the boys.
I waited.
"They must have been confused."
"They were."
He looked toward the hallway.
"I should have handled that differently."
I looked at him.
"Roscoe, it wasn't just the way you handled it."
He rubbed his forehead.
"I know."
I wasn't sure he did.
He talked about being away.
He talked about how the road could become lonely.
He said sometimes a person wanted company.
I listened.
Then I asked him something.
"Did you ever think about how lonely it was here?"
He looked at me.
I continued.
"Did you think about the nights your mother needed help and you weren't here?"
He didn't answer.
"Did you think about the times I sat with her because she couldn't sleep?"
He stared at his coffee.
"I was working."
"I know."
I let the words sit between us.
"I never asked you not to work. But I was working too, Roscoe. Just not behind a steering wheel."
He looked up.
His expression softened.
"I know you did a lot."
I shook my head.
"You know I did things. I don't think you understood what they cost."
He didn't argue.
For a while, we sat quietly.
Then he asked whether I wanted him to call Jasmine.
I looked at him.
"What would that accomplish?"
He didn't have an answer.
I told him I wasn't interested in hearing another explanation about the woman.
I wanted honesty.
That was all.
He nodded.
"I understand."
I wasn't sure I believed him.
His mother called from the bedroom.
"Roscoe?"
He stood immediately.
"Yes, Ma?"
"Come here."
He went down the hallway.
I heard the door close.
I didn't know what she told him.
I only knew that when he returned, his eyes were red.
He sat down again.
"She told me she was disappointed."
I looked at him.
"She has a right to be."
He nodded.
Then he stared into his coffee.
For once, nobody was rushing to make him feel better.
Click here to continue reading: PART 11: The Little Oranges Were Still in My Grocery List, but I No Longer Knew Whether I Would Pack His Cooler Again
Forty Years of Goodbyes, Packed Coolers, and Promises I Never Thought I Would Have to Question
Part 10 of 20
