Emergency babysitting?
Mom answered.
Mortgage shortfall?
Mom answered.
Family vacation?
Mom paid.
Apparently the one thing I had never taught my son was what happened when Mom stopped answering.
Richard spoke again.
“There is something else we should discuss.”
“What?”
“Your financial power of attorney.”
Kevin held that too.
For emergencies.
Because he was my son.
“Revoke it.”
“All right.”
“And Richard?”
“Yes?”
“Effective immediately.”
“I’ll have everything prepared this afternoon.”
When the call ended, I sat alone beside the enormous terminal windows.
Planes rolled toward runways beneath a gray Chicago sky.
My hands were completely steady.
My phone rang again.
This time, I answered.
“Mom.”
Kevin sounded breathless.
“Yes?”
“What is happening?”
“You tell me.”
“Our hotel reservation disappeared.”
“I know.”
“The excursions too.”
“I know.”
“Linda’s ticket was canceled.”
“I know.”
A pause.
Then Jessica’s voice in the background.
“Put her on speaker.”
Kevin lowered his voice.
“Mom, this isn’t funny.”
“I agree.”
“We’re supposed to board in twenty minutes.”
“Then I suggest you board.”
“And go where?”
“Hawaii.”
“We don’t have a hotel!”
“Hawaii has many hotels.”
“You canceled ours!”
“My hotel.”
Silence.
“Excuse me?”
“The reservation was purchased through my account using my money.”
Jessica came onto the line.
“This is unbelievably childish.”
I smiled.
“Jessica.”
“You’re punishing the children because you’re upset about a seat.”
“No. I left their airline tickets untouched.”
“You canceled Emma’s dolphin experience!”
“You replaced the woman who paid for it without asking her.”
“We made a family decision.”
That sentence almost impressed me.
“A family decision?”
“Yes.”
“Interesting. I must have missed the meeting.”
“You know what I mean.”
“I’m beginning to.”
Kevin interrupted.
“Mom, please. Just put the reservations back.”
“No.”
“Why?”
“Because you told me to head home.”
He said nothing.
“So I am.”
Jessica lowered her voice.
“You are making a huge mistake.”
“No, Jessica.”
I looked through the glass toward her.
She turned suddenly, searching the terminal.
For one brief second, our eyes met across the distance.
“This morning,” I said, “I stopped making one.”
I ended the call.
I had taken perhaps five steps toward baggage claim when Kevin called again.
I almost ignored him.
Then I answered.
His voice had changed.
The anger was gone.
“Mom.”
“What?”
“There’s something you should know before you go home.”
I stopped walking.
“What?”
He spoke so quietly I almost couldn’t hear him over the terminal announcements.
“Jessica already told Linda she was getting your house someday.”
My fingers tightened around my suitcase handle.
