She entered carrying a casserole dish.
Ethan looked at it.
“Is that for me or Samantha?”
Elaine glared at him.
“You are not funny enough for that joke yet.”
Ethan stepped aside.
She placed the casserole in the kitchen and immediately hugged him.
He had not realized how badly he needed that.
For several seconds, he was not a consultant, a husband, or a client in a divorce lawyer’s office.
He was simply someone’s son.
Elaine released him and touched his face.
“You look tired.”
“Everyone keeps saying that.”
“Everyone is correct.”
They sat at the table.
Elaine folded her hands.
“I owe you an apology.”
Ethan frowned.
“For what?”
“When Samantha called the first time, I believed too much of what she said.”
“You did not know.”
“I still should have called you before telling Owen that you needed to calm down.”
Ethan stared at her.
“Owen left that part out.”
“He was protecting me.”
“That sounds like him.”
Elaine’s eyes filled slightly.
“When she called again and told me the truth, I was so angry I hung up.”
“I heard.”
“I wanted to drive to the house.”
“I am glad you did not.”
“Owen took my keys.”
Ethan laughed despite himself.
“That sounds like him too.”
Elaine reached across the table.
“Are you divorcing her?”
Ethan sighed.
“I do not know.”
His mother looked surprised.
Then something more complicated crossed her face.
“You think I am weak,” Ethan said.
Elaine’s eyes widened.
“No.”
“You looked surprised.”
“I am surprised because I know how much you value trust.”
“So do I.”
Elaine held his gaze.
“Do you want my opinion?”
Ethan considered lying.
Then he said, “Not yet.”
Elaine nodded.
That response was another kind of love.
She wanted to protect him.
She also respected that protection could become control if she was not careful.
Instead, she asked about practical things.
Was he sleeping.
Was he eating.
Was work covered.
Did he need clothes from the house.
Did he need her to collect anything.
Ethan answered each question.
Before leaving, Elaine stood near the door and looked at the empty apartment.
“You know what your father would say.”
Ethan smiled faintly.
His father had been dead for five years.
“What?”
“He would say, ‘Do not make a permanent decision just to end a temporary discomfort.’”
Ethan nodded.
“He also would have called Dylan an idiot.”
Elaine’s mouth tightened.
“He would have used a stronger word.”
Ethan laughed.
It was the first full laugh since the hotel photograph appeared.
After his mother left, Ethan ate casserole directly from the container.
