“I promised your mom I’d look after you both.
She blinked and shook her head.
“Nothing.”
I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat.
***
Out on the porch, my father sat motionless, staring at my mother’s empty rocking chair like he expected her to walk back through the screen door any second.
“Has he said anything today?” I asked.
My father sat motionless.
“He asked me where his blue sweater was. Twice.”
“He’s just tired, Lydia. We’re all tired.”
“Right…”
***
That night, I watched Lydia bring my father a bowl of soup on the porch.
She crouched beside his chair and spoke softly.
He smiled at her.
“He’s just tired, Lydia.”
He hadn’t smiled at me in days.
“Dad, do you want me to sit with you?” I called from the doorway.
“Lydia’s here,” he answered, not turning around.
Something small and sharp moved through my chest.
I pretended not to feel it.
Later, in the kitchen, Lydia rinsed dishes while I dried them.
He hadn’t smiled at me in days.
I noticed a folded paper tucked into the pocket of her cardigan.
She caught me looking and shifted away.
“What’s that?” I asked.
