Then she set the letter down.
“She still thinks the money explains why she struck at me.”
I didn’t argue.
Mom returned the letter to its envelope.
“I’ll acknowledge receiving it. But I’m not ready for a visit.”
I watched her.
“Are you angry with me?”
She looked surprised.
“Nathan, I’m disappointed that you let things go on for so long. But you’re my son.”
I swallowed.
She continued.
“That doesn’t mean I’ll keep rescuing you from decisions you make.”
I managed a weak smile.
“Rachel said something similar.”
“Good. Perhaps between us you’ll finally listen.”
She reached for her tea.
Then she added, “And please tell Ashley I don’t expect her to admire my car. I do expect her not to use it as an excuse to insult me.”
I nodded.
“I will.”
We sat together while the afternoon sunlight moved across the kitchen floor.
The refrigerator hummed.
Outside, a truck passed along the road toward the industrial park.
Mom checked the time.
“I have to get back to the office.”
“It’s Saturday.”
“The Monday dispatch schedule is a mess.”
I smiled.
“Let me help.”
She studied me.
“Only if you’re prepared to do actual work.”
