Chapter 2 - The Keys on the Counter|

I didn't answer Ryan. Instead, I walked over to the entryway table, grabbed my car keys, and threw my light jacket over my shoulders.
"Where are you going?" Ryan demanded, dropping his feet from the chair.
"I’m taking her."
Ryan’s head snapped toward me, his eyebrows pulling together.
"You don’t have to do that, Claire."
"I know."
"Then sit back down."
"I know I don't have to," I repeated, meeting his stare. "That's the point."
His jaw tightened. He understood the unspoken accusation behind my words. I didn’t have to help her, but I chose to. He was her biological son, and he chose to ignore her.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into Evelyn’s driveway. The white brick columns of the house she and her late husband, Thomas, had bought back in 1989 stood tall against the gray morning sky.
Evelyn was sitting outside on the cold brick steps. She wore a tailored navy wool coat and held a structured black leather purse tightly against her knees. The cold air made her breath turn into soft white puffs.
I stepped out of the car, stepping quickly over the frosty grass.
"How long have you been sitting out here in the freeze?" I asked.
Evelyn offered a tiny, weak smile.
"Long enough to realize your father-in-law should have installed heated steps when he built the porch."
"Evelyn," I sighed, offering her my arm.
She stood up slowly, her joints visibly stiff.
"I’m fine, sweetheart."
That was her favorite catchphrase. I’m fine.
She had said she was fine when Ryan missed her seventy-seventh birthday dinner because of an impromptu weekend golf trip.
She said she was fine when her upstairs bathroom pipe leaked for four days straight while Ryan repeatedly promised to call a plumber.
She said she was fine when she spent Thanksgiving morning alone because Ryan decided our family should skip the "family chaos" and eat at a steakhouse with his coworkers instead.
And every single time, I had stepped in to smooth things over.
Ryan is so busy at work.
Ryan just forgot to check his calendar.
Ryan has been under so much stress lately.
May you like
You know he means well.
For eighteen years, I had functioned as a full-time translator, turning my husband’s selfish neglect into something that resembled filial love.