I lifted the heavy cast-iron skillet from the stove, my wrist still throbbing from the pull on the patio. The dark iron was slippery with bacon grease, and my hand slipped.
“Patricia, could you take the handle?” I asked.
She did not turn. She picked up a yellow sponge and began scrubbing a clean plate, her shoulder blocking my view of the window.
“Daniel has a meeting at eight,” she said, her voice dropping into that soft, pious tone she used for her altar guild reports. “He cannot be delayed by domestic untidiness. You know how important the new land acquisition is for his father’s company.”
The skillet stayed in my hand, heavy and cold.
“I only need a moment,” I said.
“We all have our duties, Elena,” she whispered, her fingers counting three beads of the rosary through her apron fabric.
Upstairs, the light in the master bedroom was cleaner, free of the grease and the quiet weight of the kitchen. Madison sat on the edge of the unmade bed, her small legs swinging, holding a plastic box of colored beads in her lap.
“I fixed it,” she said, pointing to a new string of silver plastic beads on a blue thread.
I sat beside her, the smell of laundry detergent rising from the basket between us. I took the small bracelet from her hand.
“It is beautiful, Maddie,” I said.
“You have to wear it today,” she said, her gray eyes wide and very serious. “Promise.”
“I will never take it off,” I said, slipping the blue thread over my left hand, where it sat just above my wedding band.
“Even when you wash your hands?”
“Even then,” I said.
We folded three of Daniel’s white shirts in silence, the cotton stiff and white.
