For a long time, she studied the steam rising from her tea.
“Do you remember last Christmas?”
Nathan nodded.
They had spent Christmas Eve at Vanessa’s apartment.
“Vanessa told you I was sick and couldn’t come,” Eleanor continued.
Nathan frowned.
“You were sick.”
Eleanor shook her head.
“She called me that morning and said your friends would be uncomfortable having an older woman there. She asked me to stay home.”
Nathan stared at her.
“I thought you wanted a quiet Christmas.”
“I know.”
Leah set down her mug.
“Mom, why didn’t you tell us?”
Eleanor’s eyes moved toward the window.
“Because Nathan looked happy. I thought perhaps I was being too sensitive.”
Nathan pressed his palms against the table.
“What else?”
Eleanor hesitated.
Then she told him.
The birthday dinner where Vanessa had insisted she sit at the far end of the table because the photographs would look better.
The weekend trip she had been invited to, then quietly removed from because Vanessa claimed there wasn’t enough room.
The afternoon Vanessa had criticized her clothes and suggested she stop visiting Nathan’s office.
Each incident sounded small when described alone.
Together, they formed a pattern Nathan could no longer ignore.
He remembered every time Vanessa had complained that his mother was difficult.
Every time he had promised to speak to Eleanor.
Every time he had asked the wrong person to compromise.
“I believed her,” he said.
Eleanor reached across the table.
