That answer stayed with me.
Two hours later, Brenda called.
I watched her name flash across my phone.
For years, I had answered immediately.
A fever.
A forgotten school form.
A babysitting emergency.
A recipe.
A ride.
A question about where she had stored the Christmas ornaments in my own attic.
Margaret was always available.
Mom always picked up.
This time I let it ring three times.
Then four.
Then five.
Finally, I answered.
“Hello?”
“Mom, where’s the spare key?”
No hello.
No apology.
I glanced toward the small ceramic lighthouse above my refrigerator.
The spare Cape May key used to be hidden behind a loose piece of trim near the back porch. Robert had moved it the year before he died because Gregory kept forgetting to return his copy.
“I don’t know,” I said.
“What do you mean you don’t know?”
“I mean Robert moved it.”
