My daughter.
Claire.
I answered immediately.
“Mom?”
“Claire.”
“I’ve been trying to reach you!”
“What?”
“We’ve been calling since last night. Your phone kept going straight to voicemail.”
I looked at the screen.
Full signal.
“That’s impossible.”
“Where are you?”
“At a storage facility.”
Silence.
“Why?”
“It’s complicated.”
“Mom, we’re at your house.”
“We?”
“Me and Michael.”
My son.
Both my children were at my house.
On my birthday weekend.
Claire continued.
“We wanted to surprise you yesterday. Michael’s flight was delayed, so we decided to come this morning instead. We’ve been worried sick.”
The loneliness I had carried since yesterday suddenly cracked.
They had remembered.
They had been coming.
I closed my eyes.
“I’m all right.”
“Who are you with?”
I looked at Daniel.
“That,” I said, “is significantly more complicated.”
Then Claire said something strange.
“Mom… there’s
a man sitting on your porch.”
