Still progress, he thought.
“What have you brought?” she asked. “Something to eat.”
“How do you do that?” Then he realized the answer was fairly simple in this case. “Oh. Right. Your nose.”
“Yes. My nose is telling me all kinds of lovely things, but I’m not sure enough yet, so I will only wait and see.”
“Have you eaten?”
“Not today. No. Yesterday Isabel brought pizza. But not yet today.”
Raymond shook his head as he walked into her kitchen. “Good thing I’m back, then,” he muttered to himself.
“I heard that, you know.”
“Sorry. I’m going to warm up part of this in the oven for you.”
“All right. Thank you. I hope it’s what I think it is.”
He pulled a knife from her drawer and cut the omelet into two-thirds and one-third sections. He found a casserole dish with a lid in her cupboard, and placed the smaller portion inside it. Closed the takeout container and found a spot for it in her fridge, leaving the little cup of sour cream out on the counter.
There was leftover pizza in there. And an open bottle of white wine, the cork replaced to keep it fresh.
“There’s wine in your refrigerator,” he said.
“Yes, there is.”
“From Isabel?”
“Correct. She thought half a glass with dinner might help me sleep better.”
“Did it help?”
“Hard to say. I didn’t sleep all that well. But I suppose it didn’t hurt.”
“Want half a glass with your . . .” He almost said “omelet.” But he wanted to preserve the surprise. “。 . . dinner?”
“That would be nice. Thank you.”
“Let’s hope you don’t end up with a drinking problem,” he said. He was ninety-five percent kidding, and he hoped that came through in his voice.
To his surprise, she laughed. Quite naturally. As if someone dear hadn’t just died.
“Considering I would fall dead asleep after less than one glass,” she said, “I suppose I will take my chances with that.”
He guided her to the table, and slid her chair in underneath her as she sat.
“I was right,” she said. “It’s what I thought it was! I almost worried that it was too much to hope for.”
“Spinach, tomato, and cheese.”
“With sour cream?”
“Of course.”
“Your father took you to that lovely restaurant for brunch?”
“Yeah.”
“How very thoughtful of you to bring me this back.” She touched the edges of it with her fork and knife, probably to see how much he had given her.
“It’s about a third of it. The rest is in the fridge.”
“Still a lot,” she said, taking her first bite.
She closed her eyes and sighed contentedly.
“Just do your best with it.”
“This I can do. So very kind of you to bring this, Raymond. So delicious. Every bit as good as the first one, even reheated.”
She ate in silence for a time. Raymond only sat with her, staring through the curtained window at nothing.
“How was your visit with the kids?” he asked after a time.
She worked quickly to swallow before speaking.
“Harder than I thought it would be. They are like a mirror for this huge loss. They don’t completely understand yet. Well, they do and they don’t. It’s a hard thing to take in at their age. Oh, who am I fooling? It’s a hard thing to take in at any age. Even mine.” She took a small sip of her wine. “And how was your weekend with your father?”
“Pretty good, actually. Better than usual. I feel like we actually managed to talk about something. You know. Something real.”
“Good. Good. Now tell me one other thing, Raymond. I’ve been wondering about it while you were gone. So I will simply ask. Why are you so afraid for me?”
“Afraid for you?” he asked.
He turned his head to look at her face. For clues, maybe. It was angled toward him as if to help her listen. Slightly tilted, like a dog trying to identify a curious sound. Her fork and knife stood poised in the air, completely still. He could see that he had her full attention.
“Am I afraid for you?”
“It seems to me that you are.”
“Well . . . people have to eat, you know.”
“People can go many days without eating.”
“I suppose. But . . .” And then he felt it. The thing she had asked about. It was there. It was coming up through him. It was about to make its way out of his mouth. Out into the world, where he could not take it back again. Not deny it anymore. “I feel like . . . now that Luis is gone . . . you just seemed to have this really strong will to live, and I guess I worry that you’re losing that.”