Chapter 3

Ryan came home that evening.

He was twenty-four, wearing a pricey coat. Instead of greeting his mom when he walked in, the first thing out of his mouth was, "Is Aunt Claire here?"

I was in the kitchen, cleaning up after dinner, and when I heard him, I turned off the water.

Richard was sitting in the living room. "She's already gone."

Ryan let out a sigh of relief. "She wasn't feeling well today, so I had the driver take her to the hospital."

I walked out of the kitchen. "Funny how you noticed Aunt Claire wasn't feeling well, but did you even remember your mom's birthday yesterday?"

Ryan gave me an impatient look. "Mom, here we go again. It's a birthday, it comes every year. But Aunt Claire's stomach ache is real this time."

"Your dad was home yesterday," I said.

"I know," Ryan replied, sounding annoyed. "He was with you, what else do you want?"

Richard set his cup down. "Ryan, watch how you talk to your mom."

Ryan tugged at his collar. "Dad, stop pretending. Aren't you divorcing her tomorrow? Can't we all be straightforward about it?"

The living room went quiet.

Aunt Julie peeked out from the kitchen, then quickly ducked back in.

I asked, "You knew about this all along?"

"Aunt Claire never said a word, I figured it out myself," Ryan said. "Mom, you and Dad haven't cared about each other for ages.

"You're still clinging to being Mrs. Quinn, but do you even realize how much Aunt Claire has had to endure because of that?"

I looked at the son I'd raised.

When he was little and had a fever, I sat with him in the hospital hallway all night until dawn.

Richard was away on business, and Claire stopped by and brought him a teddy bear. When he woke up, the only thing he remembered was Aunt Claire giving him the bear.

I said, "Ryan, when you were a kid and had asthma, who carried you to the hospital in the middle of the night?"

He frowned. "Mom, can you stop bringing up the past all the time?"

"When you were framed for cheating in your senior year, who was the one kneeling outside the principal's office, begging them to check the cameras?" I pressed.

"That's what you're supposed to do," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "You're my mom."

"And what has Claire ever done for you?" I asked.

Ryan raised his voice. "She doesn't go around bragging about everything she's done for me like you do. She gets me, respects me, and doesn't try to use her love as a weapon against me."

Richard frowned. "That's enough."

But Ryan kept going. "The divorce is tomorrow. I'll go with Dad. Mom, don't back out at the last minute. Dad's been exhausted these past years."

I asked, "What's he so exhausted about?"

"He's tired because he can't be with the woman he really loves," Ryan said, staring at me. "Come on, you're forty-nine. Why not show some dignity for once?"

I stood there, water dripping from my hands onto the floor.

Aunt Julie suddenly came out with a plate of fruit. "Ryan, Mrs. Quinn barely ate anything all day. Why don't you cut her some slack?"

Ryan turned to her. "Aunt Julie, this is a family matter."

Aunt Julie's face fell. "I've been here for twenty years."

"So you should know who really pays the bills around here," Ryan shot back.

Richard slammed his hand down on the armrest. "Ryan."

Ryan went quiet, but when he looked at me, there wasn't even a shred of remorse in his eyes.

There was a soft knock at the door.

Claire came in, looking pale, holding a pharmacy bag from the hospital.

"Did I pick a bad time to come?" she asked.

Ryan immediately went over to help her. "Why aren't you resting at the hospital?"

Claire glanced at me. "I was afraid Stella would think I was pretending to be sick."

I let out a laugh.

Richard looked annoyed. "What's so funny?"

"I'm amused at how perfectly you three have rehearsed your little family performance," I said.

Ryan snapped, "Mom, can you stop being so mean?"

Claire grabbed his arm. "Don't blame your mom. She's really hurting."

I walked up to her. "Claire, you'd better remember what you said today."

She looked up, her voice barely above a whisper. "Stella, I never forgot. Whatever I owe you, I'll pay it back if I can."

"You could never pay me back," I said.

As Claire held the pharmacy bag, the box of medicine slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.

Ryan bent down to pick it up, and when he saw the name on the box, his expression changed. "Aunt Claire, why are you on these again?"

Richard got up too. "What did the doctor say?"

Claire quickly stashed the medicine away. "It's nothing."

I stared at the box, and suddenly remembered, twenty-four years ago, at Ryan's christening party, Claire was taking the exact same pills.

She said she couldn't ad to the climate. Richard was toasting guests in the front hall, and when he heard she wasn't feeling well, he handed Ryan to me and walked off.

That day, the guests kept saying how lucky I was, my husband was successful, and my son was healthy and chubby.

But I was standing there alone, holding the baby under the festive decorations, like some borrowed prop.