The phone rang again. Again, she said, Yes, no, I appreciate it, thank you, thank you so much for calling. She ate a blueberry muffin from the box Esther had dropped off. She watched the monsoon clouds gather on the horizon. Afternoon already. The clouds looked weaker now, here in late August. The monsoon would fizzle soon, and the sky would dry out like a cotton sheet on a line. Come September, it’d be blue for weeks.
She heard the mail truck before she saw it; even with her ears, she knew the low stop-and-go hum. She went outside and waved at Luz Navarro behind the wheel. Luz stopped and called out, “Hey, mamí, how are you? How you holding up?”
“Fine, Luz, thanks for asking. I’m all right.”
“We’re all thinking about you. My mom’s got you in her prayer circle, for what it’s worth,” she said. “Father Tom, too.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“Let us know if you need anything.”
“Thanks. I will.” Thank you for calling.
In the mailbox, mixed with bills and mailers, she found “Thinking of You” cards from co-workers and folks on her route. Soon, her box would be flooded with “In Sympathy” cards, her doorstep busy with flower deliveries. She knew this, too. She already knew.
The phone rang again. Maud picked up, but no one responded.
“Hello? Anyone there?” she said.
She was about to hang up when someone spoke.
“Is this Maud?” A man’s voice.
“Who’s asking?”
After a pause, the man said, “Adam Newell.” He paused again. “Please don’t hang up.”
She didn’t say anything at first, but then she sighed. “I guess I’ve been waiting for this. I guess I knew you’d call again eventually.”
“I’ve tried. Many times.”
“I know. What do you want?”
“I promise I won’t call again. I promise I’ll let you be after this. But I’ve been wondering something, and I need to ask you. I need to know the answer. Okay?”
“Ask,” Maud said.
He sighed. “She ran away because of me, right? Because of what I did?”
Maud held the phone away from her ear. She looked at the holes in the receiver and then out the window. She stared at a dark cluster of clouds. The sky had been darker that long-ago afternoon. She’d been sitting on this same sofa.
“Maud? Hello?”
“I’m here.”
When he finally spoke, his voice had grown soft, barely audible. “It’s my fault. I know it’s my fault. I just wanted to tell you.”
She nodded in the stillness of her living room.
“Maud?”
“Here.”
His voice sounded shaky, thin. “I know it’s not enough to say I’m sorry. I know that, too.”
Maud said, “She didn’t run away.”
“I don’t understand. She ran off.”
“No. She went out, but she was coming back. She left a note, remember?” Maud didn’t need to look at the slip of paper she’d taped in the notebook. She recited it from memory. “ ‘I’m going out for a walk. I need to clear my head. I’ll be back in a couple hours. Don’t worry. Love, J-bird.’ ”
“I know.” He paused and then let out a hard breath. “But I assumed she changed her mind.”
“That’s like you. To assume.”
“I’m saying I’m the reason she changed her mind. I’m trying to say something here.”
Maud said, “No. She didn’t change her mind. She wasn’t running away. She went out for a walk. That was the plan. Back in a couple hours. She was coming home. To me, not to you.”
He didn’t answer. The silence strung across the line.
Finally, he said, “I wish you’d talked to me about it. I wish you’d told me more.”
“I’m sorry, do you think I owe you something? Do you think I owe you explanations?”
He raised his voice. “I wish you talked to me,” he said. “Jesus Christ. All this time, I believed she’d run away.”
“Fuck you, Adam. She was running. Emotionally, anyway. She couldn’t sit still because of what you did.” She dropped her head onto the sofa cushion.
He breathed on the line.
Maud grabbed one of the muffins from the box and squeezed it until it squished out between her fingers. She thumped the cushion, smearing crumbs and grease on the fabric.
“I was asleep,” she said. “When she left. I had no idea she’d go outside. Why in the world would she? I woke up, and I wasn’t even worried at first. Exasperated, maybe. You know what I thought? I thought, Tomorrow, we’ll go get a Christmas tree. We’ll get a tree and we’ll decorate it. We’ll get out all the decorations! All of them!” She realized she was yelling, and she stopped.
“It’s not—”
“Don’t say it,” she said. “Don’t you say another word.”
His voice cracked. “But it’s not your fault, Maud.”
“Of course it’s not.” But of course it was. Deep in her heart, she’d always known the truth, even when she couldn’t look at it in the face. She was the mother. She’d failed to protect her. She’d failed to do the bare minimum: be awake. She wanted to yell, No, it’s your fault, because it was, ultimately, but she couldn’t get the words out.
“Maud, I loved her,” he said.
“No, I loved her,” she said. “I did.”
“Can’t it be both?” he said. “Can we both have loved her?”
Loved. Past tense.
“I have to go,” she said.
“Maud, wait. Please. I know I have no right to ask this. I know I don’t.”
She tightened her grip on the phone. “Say it,” she said.
“Will you let me know? Will you call me and let me know when you do? Not because you owe me anything. That’s not what I’m saying.”
Maud wiped her greasy fingers on her pants. He still had hope. This man who had loved her daughter, who had wanted to hold her in his arms.
“Okay,” she said.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Thank you for calling,” she said automatically and hung up.
The phone rang again, and Maud didn’t answer. She turned the ringer off and pulled the blanket over her. She clicked through the TV channels, drooling onto the pillow. Her arm grew numb beneath her, and she shook it out. She picked up most of the ruined muffin from the carpet and threw it in the kitchen trash. She ate another one, letting the crumbs drop straight onto the tile. Lifting the tinfoil off a dish, she fished out a bite of noodles with her fingers.
The doorbell rang. She turned and blinked. Okay. Okay. This was it. She brushed crumbs from her shirt, smeared the noodle sauce on her pants. The wait was over.
She opened the door, and there stood Esther, Iris, and Rachel. They all held bags and boxes and bottles.