“I have a work call.”

“On a Sunday night?”

“Some of us work, Mom.”

That landed, and he knew it landed, and he did not take it back.

He walked toward the study, the door already swinging shut behind him.

I sat there in the living room with my hands folded and the television muttering to no one.

Then I went back to the dining room, pulled out the chair by the breadboard table, and reached under the edge of the table where the pad had been.

My fingers found nothing at first.