His father took him out to lunch for a "talk." His father wore a dark blue suit and looked embarrassed about the tennies and shorts and T-shirt Jonah wore. His face wasn't familiar. Jonah watched the way he used his knife and fork. They hardly talked at all. Jonah asked him why he left. The knife and fork were very still for a moment before his father spoke. Jonah didn't remember what he said, he just remembered the knife and fork, held silent for a brief instant, and how the restaurant lights glinted off the silver.
~
Jonah helped Lucy put away the groceries. It had become routine. He'd grown
accustomed to Lucy. She and Mom were weaning him to independence. Even with school, every month they dropped more and more onto his plate. The bank account. Bills. Insurance. Jonah knew better than to complain.
"She's going to die you know," Lucy said. "You act like she isn't, but she is. It's only a matter of time. She didn't even leave her room today."
Jonah stopped. He was turned away from her, holding a jar of Skippy chunky
peanut butter. He put the jar on the counter and faced her.
"I know," he said. "We've talked about it."
"But I don't think you believe it," Lucy said.
Jonah turned and put the peanut butter in the cupboard.
"Don't preach at me, Lucy." He went back into the living room.
~
When Jonah got up the next morning, Lucy seemed jittery. She greeted him and hurried away to the bedroom with some towels. He ate his breakfast and listened for the sounds of them talking, but there was nothing. He finished his Cheerios, rinsed the bowl out in the sink and the milk swirled white down the drain. He walked down the hall and knocked on the door to his mother's room. He heard a quick rustle within.