“Especially then.”
“And Ethan?”
“I’m going to wish him happy birthday.”
“Ask him about himself.”
“Not tell him what I bought until after I know whether Claire is comfortable with the gift.”
“You think she might not let you give it to him?”
“She might not.”
“And if she doesn't?”
“I take it home.”
“After keeping it a year?”
“Yes.”
Jenna stared.
Evelyn said:
“That is the difference between then and now.”
The person ahead began unloading groceries.
Jenna asked:
“Would you like me to stay through checkout?”
“Or give you some space?”
Evelyn looked surprised.
Another question.
Another choice given instead of taken.
“Stay through checkout.”
“After that, I need to make the rest of this trip on my own.”
“Fair.”
They moved forward.
Evelyn unloaded.
Cake last.
The cashier was a young woman named Kelsey who smiled when she saw the blue ribbon.
“Birthday?”
Evelyn nodded.
“My grandson.”
“How old?”
“Nine.”
“Big age.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn’s voice softened.
“Yes, it is.”
Jenna watched her pay.
The total was more than Evelyn expected.
She did not complain.
She checked every bag.
Cake separate.
Candles in purse so they would not disappear.
Batteries with gift wrap.
Receipt folded into wallet.
Methodical.
Prepared.
At the end of the register, Jenna said:
“You keep looking at the time.”
Evelyn picked up the cake.
“I’m afraid I'll get there and see him.”
“That sounds like the part you want.”
“It is.”
“That’s why I’m afraid.”
Evelyn looked at the photograph in her purse without removing it.
“I’m afraid I'll see how much of his childhood I missed.”
“Two years at that age…”
She swallowed.
“Teeth fall out.”
“Voices change.”
“They stop liking dinosaurs.”
“They learn jokes you don't understand.”
“That’s the part I can't prepare for.”
Jenna said nothing.
There was nothing useful to say.
At the automatic doors, cold December air rushed inside.
Evelyn stopped.
Jenna took the shopping bag with batteries and wrapping paper.
“This is where I stop.”
“Like I promised.”
She handed it back.
“At least Ethan will know you came when he asked.”
Evelyn looked toward the parking lot.
“One hour is enough if I spend it right.”
“I'll let him have his birthday.”
“Claire can decide what comes after.”
Jenna nodded.
“I’m sorry.”
Evelyn looked at her.
“For the cake?”
“For the cake.”
“For taking it out of your cart.”
“For talking about your age.”
“For deciding you were selfish because I was angry.”
“All of it.”
Evelyn considered.
“I’m still hurt.”
Jenna nodded.
“I understand.”
“But you listened when I told you what I wanted.”
Evelyn continued.
“That matters.”
She walked toward her car.
Jenna watched her go.
Then remembered she still needed dessert.
She returned to the store.
Bought two apple pies.
Her sister survived.
Nobody suffered.
The world did not end because Jenna did not get the last chocolate cake.
That realization embarrassed her more than anything.
Evelyn left the Henderson Market parking lot at 2:38.
She drove with the cake secured on the passenger-side floor so it could not slide.
The telescope was in the trunk.
She had wrapped it two weeks earlier, then unwrapped it that morning because the paper said “8” repeatedly in tiny silver patterns.
She had bought that paper the year before.
Ethan was nine now.
That single number had made her sit on the bedroom floor and cry.
Two years.
People say time passes quickly.
That is true when you are allowed to participate in it.
When you are excluded from somebody’s life, time behaves differently.
It becomes visible.