Then she set a plate, fork, glass, and folded napkin in front of it.
Fifteen places.
One empty chair.
Regret performed in private has more credibility than regret presented at someone’s door with discount flowers.
Still, it did not create trust.
Curtis came to my condominium on moving day.
The furniture had been removed. Nail holes marked the walls, and pale rectangles remained where bookcases had protected the carpet from sunlight.
He stood just inside the empty living room wearing a winter coat I had given him three Christmases earlier.
“You’re actually going.”
“Yes.”
“I thought you might change your mind.”
“That has been the problem, Curtis. You assumed I would always change my mind before you had to change your behavior.”
He sat on a cardboard box.
“I’m sorry about Thanksgiving.”
“Only Thanksgiving?”
He lowered his eyes.
“No.”
“Then begin again.”
“I’m sorry for letting Ariadne remove you from the family group. I’m sorry I stopped calling. I’m sorry I made you request permission to visit. I’m sorry I let her give your chair to Norma.”
“You helped set the table.”
His head lifted.
“How did you know?”
“Vernon told me.”
He looked toward the empty windows.
“I knew there were fourteen chairs.”
“Yes.”
“I kept telling myself we could bring another one if you complained.”
The admission settled heavily between us.
“You required me to protest before deciding I deserved a place.”
“I didn’t think of it that way.”
“That does not change what it was.”
He covered his face with both hands.
“I was trying to keep peace in my marriage.”
“You preserved your comfort by spending my dignity.”
He remained silent.
After a moment, he said, “I looked you up.”
“I heard.”
“I didn’t know about the scholarships.”
“You never asked what I did after selling the company.”
“I knew you were retired.”
“I was not finished because I stopped reporting to an office.”
“I know that now.”
“Too late.”
His face tightened.
“Is it?”
I walked toward the window.
Outside, the moving truck idled at the curb. Wanda stood beside my car speaking with the driver.
“That depends on what you are asking.”
“I want to fix this.”
“You cannot restore the last five years. You can decide what the next five reveal about you.”
“What do I do?”
“Family counseling begins in February. Tuesdays at four by video. I choose the therapist.”
He nodded quickly.
“The demand note remains enforceable, but I will suspend collection while you participate honestly and make regular payments.”
His shoulders loosened slightly.
“The children’s trusts remain under my control.”
“I understand.”
“You do not ask for money. You do not use the children to negotiate. You do not allow Ariadne or Norma to contact my advisers.”
“I understand.”
“One missed session without a real emergency, one manipulated story, or one attempt to access my accounts, and the suspension ends.”
“I’ll be there.”
He looked around the empty room.
“Mom, if you didn’t have money, would you still be leaving?”
“Yes.”
My answer surprised him.
“The chair was never about money.”
His eyes filled.
Then he asked the question beneath every other question.
“If I had no money, would you have kept me?”
I did not answer immediately.
The silence stretched until he understood.
“Yes,” I said finally. “I would have loved you. But I should not have kept rescuing you.”
He nodded as tears moved down his face.