Mary Ellen stroked Casey’s hair, not paying attention to the customers in the sandwich shop who were straying from their lunches to take peeks at the sobbing girl. She rested her hand on Casey’s back—so bony under her fingers. Her height was oddly diminished by her thinness. Casey seemed small. “It’s all right, little one. It’s all right.” She’d already sensed that there was something amiss between her son and Casey, but she’d been uncertain as to what exactly. Jay was a very good son; by that, she meant, unlike her older son, Ethan, Jay had done well in school, gotten an excellent job, effectively made her proud through his achievements. He was the son who’d justified her labor and sacrifices as a mother. But Jay did not confide in her. Neither did Ethan. Mary Ellen envied mothers with daughters. With girls, it seemed possible to remain involved in their lives. Even when her boys were little, she’d ask them how school was, and they’d reply, “Good,” and in their simple expressions, she saw shut doors. One of the lovely by-products of Jay’s dating Casey was that she’d gotten to know her child better because Casey talked to her. As a mother of two grown men, she was still gleaning scraps. After her boys were out of school, she’d missed parent-teacher conferences and report cards, because news of her boys had become even less periodic, shrinking down to nil.
“Take a breath,” Mary Ellen said, taking a dramatic one herself, as if she were reading the part of the Big Bad Wolf for the neighborhood children during story hour.
Casey did as she was told, breathing in a vast gulp of air. She swallowed the last of her cold, milky coffee, the same cup she’d been nursing for the past hour—her meager rent for occupying the stool.
“Are you all right? I asked Jay how you were last week, and he had to get off the phone because of work. So he said. And I haven’t been able to reach him since then.”
Casey nodded, knowing how Jay could use work as a way to avoid talking. Wasn’t there always another fire to put out at the office? His job was a career, not like her temporary stint at Sabine’s, where she could walk out the door at closing hour and be done until the next day.
Casey looked around the shop. No one was looking at them now.
“Are you at home with your parents this summer?”
She shook her head no.
“Where are you staying, then?”
“At a friend’s on the Upper East.”
“Why aren’t you staying at Jay’s?” Mary Ellen looked carefully at Casey. “Are you two fighting?”
Casey held up the want ads, not wanting to talk about Jay. “I’m looking for a job, Mary Ellen.”
The woman who’d finished her soup and crackers got up from the stool next to Casey’s. Mary Ellen sat in her spot.
“Okay. How is that going?”
“I have an interview tomorrow.” Casey did not mention that it was at Kearn Davis where Jay worked. She’d yet to get a call from any of her cover letters. In her wallet, she had eight dollars, and her credit limit was tapped. That morning, she’d considered calling her sister to ask for more money.
“You look a little tired, honey,” Mary Ellen said. That morning, Casey hadn’t bothered with concealer. “Are you all right?”
Casey stared into her empty cup—a thin ring of coffee remained lodged in the bottom seam of the paper cup.
“Oh, Casey, what can I do? What won’t you children tell me?”
“We broke up. There isn’t much to say,” Casey said, feeling the tears spring up again.
“What?” Mary Ellen was stunned. “Why? He loves you so much. I’m so certain of that.”
Casey blew her nose on a milk-stained napkin.
Mary Ellen made a face, then she knew. “What did he do?”
Casey remained silent. Knowing Mary Ellen, she’d feel responsible. “I can’t say.”
“You are still talking to each other, right?”
Casey shook her head no.
Mary Ellen sighed. She’d never seen Casey like this before. The girl was utterly bereft.
“It’s like someone cut off my limbs. Like I’m an ugly stump.” Casey said this without intending to, then felt bad right away. It didn’t seem right to say this to Jay’s mother.
Mary Ellen’s lower lip quivered the tiniest bit. That was precisely how she’d felt after Carl left.
“But we’re still friends, Casey.” Mary Ellen peered into the girl’s eyes, making sure that she was being understood. “You’re better than a daughter to me,” she said. “We’ll always be in each other’s lives. We have our own bond.” She pulled out a pad from her knapsack. “Tell me where you’re staying.”