Chapter 5: The Leaking Faucet

My mother opened the front door before he could ring the bell.

"You're letting the heat out," Connie said.

"Mrs. Pennington." Dalton held a grocery bag in each hand. "I'm sorry to come without calling. I brought food."

He held the bags up a little higher.

"I didn't know what you can eat after the surgery, so I asked the pharmacist."

"The pharmacist."

"He said low salt, no grapefruit."

"He's right." She looked into the top bag. "Is that a rotisserie chicken?"

"Yes."

"It has salt on it."

"I'll take it back."

"Don't be an idiot, bring it in."

I stood in the kitchen doorway and watched my husband walk through my mother's house.

He kept his elbows tucked in, afraid to touch anything.

Ruby had gone completely silent, which was almost worse.

Dalton set the bags on the counter and turned to me.

"Monica."

"You have until the chicken is cold," I said.

"I won't take long."

His eyes went to my mother, then back to me.

"I'd like to say something to Mrs. Pennington first, if she'll let me."

"She'll let you," my mother said. "She's right here. Sit."

He sat.

He sat on a kitchen chair with a vinyl cushion, his knees too high and his hands folded on the table.

I realized I had never seen him sit anywhere that wasn't his.

"I told your daughter your illness wasn't a reason," he said. "I said you weren't dead yet."

"You said it as a question," my mother said. "She told me. 'She's not dead yet, is she?'"

"Yes."

"Say the whole thing, then."

"Mom," I said.

"Let the man say his own sentence, Monica. He's a grown man."

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