Chapter 2
Rachel called the next morning.
Eleanor answered.
Neither woman spoke for several seconds.
Finally Rachel said:
“How’s your mouth?”
“Bruised.”
“I’m sorry.”
“For which part?”
Rachel went quiet.
Eleanor disliked cruelty disguised as precision.
But the question mattered.
“The phone,” Rachel said.
“Not the punch?”
“Of course the punch.”
“You didn’t help me.”
“I froze.”
“You stood in front of him.”
“I know.”
“You took my phone.”
“I know.”
Eleanor looked out the kitchen window.
“Why?”
Rachel’s answer came too quickly.
“Because I thought if police came, everything would explode.”
“Everything what?”
“Everything.”
“That is not an answer.”
Rachel lowered her voice.
“Trent’s business. Your company. The family. Press.”
Eleanor felt something shift.
“What does my company have to do with Trent punching me?”
Rachel hesitated.
“Nothing.”
“Then why did you say it?”
No answer.
Eleanor closed her eyes.
“Rachel, were you actually planning to stay here for a month?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“I thought you needed us.”
Eleanor almost laughed.
“I needed you to move into my house?”
“Mom.”
“What exactly did I need?”
Rachel’s breathing changed.
“Help.”
“With?”
“You’ve been missing things.”
Eleanor went completely still.
“What things?”
“Appointments.”
“No.”
“Mom—”
“I have missed one dental appointment in eighteen months.”
“You forgot dinner with us twice.”
“You changed one of those dinners.”
“You sent the same document to Dana three times.”
Eleanor frowned.
“When?”
“Last month.”
That did not sound familiar.
Rachel continued.
“You left the side gate open.”
“No.”
“Your housekeeper said—”
“Which housekeeper?”
Rachel stopped.
Eleanor’s tone changed.
“Rachel.”
“Trent told me.”
There it was.
Not the housekeeper.
Trent.
Rachel continued quickly.
“He’s been worried for months.”
“About my memory?”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You don’t accept help.”
Eleanor almost admired how cleanly the sentence shifted responsibility.
“Who suggested living here?”
Another pause.
“Trent.”
“Why one month?”
“He said we needed enough time to see what was really happening.”
Enough time.
Eleanor wrote the phrase down.
“Did you speak to a doctor about me?”
Rachel’s silence answered before her words did.
“Rachel.”
“A geriatric specialist.”
Eleanor stood.
“When?”
“Two weeks ago.”
“Without telling me?”
“We asked general questions.”
“Who is ‘we’?”
“Trent and me.”
Eleanor looked toward the family photographs lining the hallway.
Her daughter genuinely sounded worried.
That was almost worse.
“Did you make an appointment for me?”
“No.”
The answer came fast.
Then Rachel corrected herself.
“Not exactly.”
Eleanor’s grip tightened around the phone.
“What does that mean?”
“An evaluation was penciled in.”
“For when?”
Rachel whispered:
“Three weeks from now.”
Eleanor looked at the calendar.
Exactly twenty-two days away.
May you like
Inside the one month Trent had announced they were staying.
The housing demand suddenly had a timeline.
