My Mother Recognized My Fake Fiance From an Autumn Night Five Years Ago
“I have the key, Dad,” I said.
He nodded, his eyes moving to Christopher, then back to me.
“Your mother is in the study,” he said. “She has the directory.”
“I know,” I said.
“Be careful on the state road,” he said. “The leaves are wet.”
He did not offer to hug me, and I did not reach out. We had never been a family that held onto each other when things went wrong. We simply watched each other from across the room until the door closed.
The front door clicked shut behind us, the lock turning with a heavy, double sound as soon as the frame met the jamb.
The driveway was dark, the single bulb over the garage having burned out three weeks ago. The wind was pulling the yellow oak leaves from the branches, sending them scraping across the asphalt with a sound like dry paper.
Christopher walked slightly ahead of me, his tall frame catching the thin light from the street lamp on Pine Lane. He held his small duffel bag by the canvas handles, his shoulders hunched against the damp chill.
