She carried a small paper plate covered in aluminum foil, her gold wedding band catching the yellow light of the hallway as she balanced the dish.
“I brought a pear tart from the bakery on third street,” Martha said.
She set the plate on the counter right over the grease ring I had just cleaned.
“We were just about to have dinner, Mom,” I said.
“A little sweetness never spoiled an appetite, Clara,” Martha said, her voice soft and even.
She walked over to the table and laid her hand on Evelyn’s shoulder.
Evelyn did not lean into the touch, nor did she pull away.
“You look thin, sweetie,” Martha said.
“I’m fine,” Evelyn said.
Martha looked at the phone resting on Evelyn’s thigh, her eyes lingering on the dark glass of the screen.
“Your mother tells me you are struggling with the algebra homework,” Martha said.
“It is just equations,” Evelyn said.
“If you do not master the foundation, you will fall behind before the winter term even begins,” Martha said.
She turned to me, her hand returning to her side to rub her gold wedding band.
“Something is different about her, Clara, and you are choosing not to see it.”
I took a set of white bowls from the cupboard above the stove.
“She is tired, Mom, we both are.”
“A mother must have authority in her own house,” Martha said, her voice dropping to a lower register.
“I have plenty of authority,” I said.
I paused, holding the bowls against my ribs.
“Evelyn, please set the table.”
Evelyn stood up, keeping her phone in her right hand as she reached for the drawer where we kept the silverware.
She did not look at either of us as she laid three forks on the table.
“I should go home and let you eat,” Martha said, though she did not move toward the door.
