“That’s ugly,” he said. “You should absolutely keep him away from the house. But I hear two different things. You’re protecting Khloe, and you’re hurt because he spoke about Daniel. Which one is driving?”
Naomi rubbed her forehead. “Both.”
“Then slow down.”
“If I don’t show, he’ll keep escalating.”
“Maybe. But you don’t know that. And a gym isn’t a court with better rules.”
Naomi looked at the duffel. “I can control myself.”
Marcus answered gently. “You’ve spent most of your adult life learning to control yourself. That isn’t what worries me. It worries me that you think you have to prove it by going.”
For a long time neither spoke. Naomi could hear music faintly on Marcus’s end of the line, a children’s song. Marcus had two daughters. He understood the fear in Naomi’s voice.
“At least talk to the instructor first,” Marcus said. “Make sure he knows what this is. And don’t let a teenager decide what kind of mother you are.”
“I’ll think about it.”
“Actually think. Don’t just use those words to make me hang up.”
After the call Naomi placed the bag by the closet door. She did not open it. She went upstairs and stood outside Khloe’s bedroom. The night-light painted a faint blue line across her sleeping face. On the bedside table was a photograph of Daniel holding his on a beach, both of them squinting into bright sunlight.
She had made her daughter a promise that she would always be there.
Now she was preparing to do something she hoped would not put that promise at risk.
Chapter 16: The Last Ordinary Friday
Friday morning arrived with cold sunlight and a sky so clear the houses across the cul-de-sac seemed outlined in ink. Naomi woke before her alarm and lay still, listening for the heavy bag next door. It remained quiet. For the first time in days, she could hear a bird singing in the maple outside the bedroom window.
She should have been relieved. Instead the silence felt like the moment before someone opened a door.
Khloe came downstairs with two different socks and a folder of schoolwork. She was excited about a class presentation and had temporarily replaced her worries about Trent with worries about forgetting the names of the animals she had drawn.
“How do you pronounce ecosystem?” she asked.
“Exactly like you just did.”
“Are you sure?”
“I’m very sure.”
Naomi made oatmeal, which she regarded as an insult to the memory of the blueberry pancakes. They argued cheerfully about whether raisins were acceptable breakfast fruit. At the bus stop she leaned against her arm, then looked up.
“Can we get pizza tonight?”
“Maybe tomorrow. I have an errand this evening.”
“The hardware store?”
Naomi hesitated. She could have answered honestly: I’m considering doing something I told you I wouldn’t do because I’m angry at the man next door. Instead she allowed the older plan to become a convenient explanation.
“I need some things for the hallway repair,” Naomi said.
Khloe accepted it. The ease with which she trusted her mother made the lie feel heavier.
After the bus left, Naomi drove to a local auto body shop and asked about the estimate Trent had delivered. The manager confirmed that the quoted price was within range for the work, though the final cost would depend on how the panel looked after inspection. Naomi gave her contact information and asked that the payment be made directly to the shop rather than through a dispute between neighbors.
“It’s an accident involving my daughter,” she explained. “She needs to know that when you damage something, you help make it right.”
The manager nodded. “That’s a better lesson than most people teach.”
Naomi wished the rest of the situation were as simple.
She spent the middle of the day replacing the cracked drywall compound above the hallway door. She spread the material carefully, sanded the seam, and cleaned the white powder from the floor. The task demanded just enough attention to keep her mind from rehearsing the evening. When her knee began to ache, she stopped and drank water rather than pretending she didn’t need a break.
At three she picked Khloe up from school because her class presentation had finished early. She climbed into the truck flushed with triumph and announced that Maya had mixed up an otter with a beaver.
“Completely different animals, Mom. One has a flat tail.”
She listened to the full account, asking questions where appropriate. It would have been easy to spend the drive in silence, thinking about the gym. She refused. This was her daughter’s afternoon, not Trent’s.
