Page 64 of Omega’s Fold

“Fine.”

“And the boys?”

“They’re fine.”

“Wyatt?”

“What?” No, that’s rude. Don’t say that. Ask him how he is.

“I — I don’t know why I’m calling. But I did want to say I’m sorry for not telling you about Linden. I didn’t think I would want to stay. I thought I’d stay out of your hair for two weeks and then leave. It seemed easier.”

I close my eyes for a second.

I have, in the months since he drove away from the barn, told myself a great many things about those last days. I have told myself I was right to send him away. I have told myself I had cause.

And I did. But I should have let him talk to me. I know how it must have looked to him. My father used to do it to my mother. She called it the silent treatment and it was brutal.

I never meant to do that. From where I was standing, it felt like the inside of my throat closing up. I couldn’t handle it.

I open my eyes.

“It’s okay,” I say finally. “It was a complicated situation.”

He breathes out. I hear it.

And then finally, I get the sentence out. “How are you doing?”

“I’m good. I’m being made a partner at work.”

“Good. Then... that’s good.”

The fridge hums. The screen door creaks. The mortgage papers are on the kitchen table inside their folder under a stack of bills. The bank’s confirmation of the six-month payment holiday came in an envelope last week and the envelope is in the same folder.

That’s the decision I made. It’s not really a decision, just a deferred one.

“Right,” he says again, when I do not say anything else.

“I should go,” I say.

“Right.”

“Matthew shouldn’t have called you.”

“He didn’t say anything. I want you to know that. He left the phone on the counter. I heard the kitchen for a few seconds. That’s all.”

“Ah.”

“I’m sorry I called back.”

“It’s fine.”

“Wyatt?”

“Yeah?”

He pauses.

“Take care of yourself.”