At one o’clock, he stood by the front door with his light tan coat over his arm and his luggage at his feet. The bright autumn sun cut through the sidelight window, showing the dust floating in the small hallway.
“I need you to promise you will call your mother if you need a ride to the clinic,” he said, checking his watch.
“My mother is in Florida, Daniel, and she cannot drive at night.”
He adjusted his collar, pulling it away from his neck as if the linen shirt was suddenly too tight. “You are stronger than you think, Helen.”
“I am thirty-two weeks pregnant with triplets,” I said, my voice flat. “I am not strong enough to do this alone.”
He stepped onto the porch and pulled the heavy oak door behind him. “You always figure things out.”
The lock clicked into place, and the driveway gravel crunched as his sedan backed out of the yard. The house felt suddenly, terrifyingly large.
