Eight. Eight-thirty. Helen called. Voicemail. She tried David. Voicemail again. Finally, a text: The kids are busy with school stuff today. We’ll let you know when we need you again.
Need you again. The words landed with a dull thud. Not see you soon. Not thank you. Need, as if love could be scheduled.
Helen folded napkins that didn’t need folding and tried to swallow the sweetness from a morning that had no one to eat it.
