“I bought roast beef from the German deli,” Ruth said, unpacking a tub of potato salad. “And proper milk, not that watered-down skim you usually keep in the fridge.”
“You did not have to do this, Ruth,” Lauren said, keeping her voice even as she closed the front door.
“Nonsense,” Ruth said, her eyes already scanning the small, narrow apartment hallway. “I do not see a single pair of men’s shoes in this hallway.”
The observation hung in the quiet apartment, competing only with the dull clank of the radiator in the corner.
“Jason is not here,” Lauren said.
Ruth turned from the counter, her brow furrowing as she adjusted her grip on her black leather purse.
“I know he is not here right this second, Lauren. I mean where is he staying?”
Lauren rubbed her temples, a familiar dull ache blooming behind her eyes.
“He does not live here, Ruth.”
Ruth clutched her purse tightly against her stomach, her knuckles turning white again.
“Jason told us he was staying in a business suite downtown to oversee the foundation repairs on the Cincinnati house,” Ruth said, her voice dropping into a rapid, questioning clip. “He told Walter the dust was too bad for Zoe’s asthma.”
Lauren looked at the peeling yellow wallpaper, then back at Ruth’s puzzled face.
“There are no repairs,” Lauren said.
“What do you mean there are no repairs? He sent his father photos of the contractor bids three months ago.”
“He lied to you,” Lauren said, her voice precise and flat. “Jason left us eight months ago.”
Ruth did not move. Her mouth opened slightly, but no sound came out.
“He moved his things out the week after Valentine’s Day,” Lauren added.
A soft creak from the living room doorway cut through the silence.
Zoe stood there, her long brown braids twisted tightly around her fingers.
“Grandma?” Zoe whispered.
