Four Minute Phone Call Exposed My Husband and My Best Friend
“I told her the store had already processed the return,” I said. “The credit is back in my account.”
My mother nodded once, a sharp, decisive movement. She reached into the basket and took out a handful of pink paper lanterns that had never been hung. She pressed them flat, one by one, the paper creaking under her palms.
“A clean slate is the only foundation that holds, Laura,” she said.
We worked in silence for the next hour, clearing the closet of the remaining baby clothes and the small toys Richard had ordered. Every item went into the boxes. By the time the clock on the landing struck ten, four cardboard boxes stood sealed and taped by the door.
My mother wiped her hands on her apron and looked at the bare walls. “The paint is in the garage?”
“Two cans of slate grey,” I said. “I bought them yesterday.”
“Go get the brushes,” she said. “I will start on the trim.”
