I stared at Oswald's face, hard, waiting for him to say something. Anything. An explanation.
He said nothing.
He just stepped aside, clearing the path, gesturing for me to go get the rag.
My legs carried me inside before my mind could catch up.
On the entryway console sat their wedding portrait. The woman leaned into his arms, smiling like she'd won the world.
The date was printed in the bottom right corner. It was taken the second year after I'd dropped out to care for his mother.
At the far end of the living room, the master bedroom door hung half open. An older woman in a nightgown sat in a chaise lounge, peeling cherries and watching TV.
Serena Whitney.
The woman I'd waited on for three years.
Winters, when her arthritis flared, I pressed hot towels to her knees every single night.
She loved sauerkraut fish stew. I made it over twenty times before I got it right, before she finally said it was good enough.
Every time she finished eating, she'd grab my hand and call me her good girl.
"Mom, the delivery girl got the carpet dirty. I told her to wipe it up."
The woman called toward the bedroom.
Serena looked up. Her eyes passed over me.
Three years.
Over a thousand days and nights.