“Daniel has a meeting at eight,” she said, her voice dropping into that soft, pious tone she used for her altar guild reports. “He cannot be delayed by domestic untidiness. You know how important the new land acquisition is for his father’s company.”
The skillet stayed in my hand, heavy and cold.
“I only need a moment,” I said.
“We all have our duties, Elena,” she whispered, her fingers counting three beads of the rosary through her apron fabric.
Upstairs, the light in the master bedroom was cleaner, free of the grease and the quiet weight of the kitchen. Madison sat on the edge of the unmade bed, her small legs swinging, holding a plastic box of colored beads in her lap.
“I fixed it,” she said, pointing to a new string of silver plastic beads on a blue thread.
I sat beside her, the smell of laundry detergent rising from the basket between us. I took the small bracelet from her hand.
“It is beautiful, Maddie,” I said.
“You have to wear it today,” she said, her gray eyes wide and very serious. “Promise.”
“I will never take it off,” I said, slipping the blue thread over my left hand, where it sat just above my wedding band.
“Even when you wash your hands?”
“Even then,” I said.
We folded three of Daniel’s white shirts in silence, the cotton stiff and white.
The yard was fully bright when I went back down to collect the tray, the shadow of the block wall shrinking toward the house. Daniel was standing by the edge of the pool, his back to me, his hands deep in his trouser pockets.
“The girls are ready,” I said, stopping three feet from the step.
He turned slowly. His face had that quiet, smooth look he wore when a contract was signed, but his eyes were flat.
“My mother says you were struggling in the kitchen,” he said.
“The skillet was heavy,” I said, my hand instinctively going to my ring finger, rolling the gold band against the skin.
He walked toward me, his leather shoes clicking on the concrete. He stopped so close I could smell his cologne, the sharp scent of cedar and mint.
“You need to remember who built this house for you,” he said.
I did not answer.
“I need a son, Elena,” he said, his voice dropping into that cold, steady register that made the hairs on my arms stand up. “My father’s name does not end with two girls.”
